


Into the Belly of the Beast

by Pilesshipper13



Series: Into the Belly of the Beast [1]
Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-16
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-04-26 16:21:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 28,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5011507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pilesshipper13/pseuds/Pilesshipper13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Waylon was able to make a different call regarding Eddie, and Eddie has more control over his mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Down the Gullet

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a dumb little story I wrote out while watching a stream of Outlast Whistleblower. Eventually it'll be Eddie/ Waylon, this is just setup. I made both of them a bit younger because I always just kind of saw Waylon as younger than the game claims, and Eddie just kind of....happened.

“Jezebel, Waylon’s not answering, do you mind going to see what they want?”

Jezebel turns her head, looking at the man holding onto the side of the doorway and looking in on her workspace.

“That’s not like him,” Jezebel muses, standing. The brunette knows Waylon, she’s had lunch with him a few times to avoid Andrew- Waylon is also kinda creeped out by the man, so they bail each other out. Also the light brunet is one of the only ones who was actually kind to her and wasn't put off by her standoffish ways when she first arrived in Colorado. “Sure, I’ll head on over,” the girl nods at her superior, following him into the hallway. She knows the way to the observation area, even though it gives her the creeps- not only is Andrew often there for one reason or another, but seeing that man suspended in the pod on the screens as she fixes a minor technical bug makes her skin crawl. But the doctors constantly assure her that it’s for the man’s own good.

“Thanks, Jess,” her superior calls after her, and the young woman turns on her heel and gives him a thumbs-up and a wide smile.

“No problem, boss,” she calls back, turning around and going down the hallway. “Filling in for Waylon,” she informs the guard at the desk.

“He’s been paged three times,” the man shakes his head. “I’ll let them know you’re coming, Jezebel.”

Jezebel opens the door not being guarded by another security officer and walks down the hall, smiling gently at the guard in front of the metal doors.

“Coming to fix the problem, Jess,” the man asks.

“Yeah, Stan,” Jezebel nods at him.

“Alright, hurry up,” Stan says, standing aside.

The great metal doors open slowly, and Jezebel steps in as soon as the gap’s wide enough for her shoulders.

“My boss sent me here since you were paging for Mr. Park and he wasn’t coming, what seems to be the problem,” Jezebel asks of the closest doctor.

“Patient’s incoming, Arterial Spin’s still dark,” the man gruffly explains, voice muffled by the gas mask he wears. He waves towards the main computer. Jezebel walks over and sits herself at the desk.

“Ellis? We called Park,” a doctor groans from her left.

“Park wasn’t coming, I did,” Jezebel bites back. “What’s the problem?”

“The functional imaging interface isn’t talking to the ASL,” the doctor explains. “We’ve got a patient thirty seconds out and we’re blind inside his head,” the man angrily gestures to the machine, eyes not leaving Jezebel’s face. She’s seen the man around, his name begins with an S or something. _Stan? Steve? Stan-Steve? Let’s go with that._ Jezebel fights back a giggle at her own dumb thoughts as she clicks on the keyboard.

The doors open again behind Jezebel. She pauses and goes to turn, finding her face full of Andrew. The girl jumps in her seat, pressing a hand to her rapidly-beating heart.

“God, Andrew,” Jezebel huffs out.

“Sorry,” Andrew grins lasciviously. The man doesn’t look contrite in the least.

“Where have you been, Park,” a doctor asks, and Jezebel latches onto the excuse to ignore Andrew.

“Waylon,” Jezebel greets, and the slim man steps over to her. “My boss sent me over because you weren’t coming,” she explains, remaining seated because Andrew is blocking her from one side and Stan-Steve from the other.

“Sorry, got caught up in something else,” the other brunet explains, waving his hand. Jezebel likes Waylon, he’s sweet and kind. And they have sass-offs, which she looks forward to. But their boss, Jeremy Blaire, is a real piece of work. Jezebel always gets the feeling that he’s hiding something big. It’s probably him that kept Waylon up.

“Here, let me get up,” Jezebel says, ostentatiously to Waylon, but really so that Andrew will _give her some personal space, Jesus Christ._

“I’m sure that you are more than capable of fixing my problem,” Andrew purrs, not moving an inch. In fact, he puts his hand on the back of Jezebel’s chair, caging her in. Jezebel glances pleadingly at Waylon, but the man is helpless- technically, Andrew is their superior.

“Ok,” Jezebel acquiesces, turning to the monitor. Waylon comes behind her and leans over a bit, watching the process, ‘in case she messes up’. Jezebel doesn’t need him, she knows the system like the back of her hand, but his presence makes Andrew back off a bit, which she’s thankful for. She’d just typed in a line of code that should establish connection between the two spatting systems when the sound of distant yelling draws her attention. The word ‘rape’ especially catches her interest. She looks inside the glass chamber, seeing a man fighting to get away from the doctors holding him. She looks back to the progress bar, catching sight of the guard beyond her monitor looking inside the chamber with his hand on the gun at his hip, when a body slamming itself against the glass in front of her startles both her and Waylon back. There’s a naked man there, his wide blue eyes pleading. He’s muscular, but his forearms seem too large for the rest of his arms. _Maybe steroids_ , Jezebel’s mind supplies. Jezebel’s eyes flick to a screen- the patient’s name is Eddie Gluskin, and his picture is up along with a partial shot of his file, which Jezebel had noticed on her way in. Plus, she had heard a doctor mention his name while he was complaining that Waylon wasn’t coming when she walked in.

“Help me,” Gluskin pleads, looking at Waylon and Jezebel. He probably turns to them because they look different from the doctors and guards around them; they're both dressed more casually in jeans. He turns his face aside, looking out for the doctors who are coming to get him. “Don’t let them do this! Don’t let them! You!” The black-haired man is begging them, and it’s breaking Jezebel’s heart. He’s pulled away by a doctor holding _something_ in his hands, Jezebel can’t figure out if it’s a machine gun or a huge needle. But Eddie pulls away again, banging on the glass with his fists way above his head. _Machine gun_ , Jezebel decides, and why the _fuck_ would they need that? “I know you can stop this. You have to help me,” Eddie continues. He’s dragged back, his arms still flailing above his head. “You have to help me, you have to help me,” he repeats, desperate.

“Hey,” a guard in Jezebel’s face startles her, and she ends up next to Waylon, both of them holding their hands up to shield against the man. “This is a high-security-”

Andrew stops him, much to Jezebel’s relief. She and Waylon look at each other, assessing. Waylon seems fine, just a little freaked out, much like Jezebel. Jezebel turns her attention to where Eddie is still fighting.

“Wait,” Jezebel cries, stopping the creepy doctor in the middle of what sounds like an attempt at a pep talk. “Andrew, stop them,” she pleads.

“Why,” Andrew asks, turning to her. Jezebel pauses. The man’s blue eyes had called to her, it must have been the pain and terror contained within them. He might be unstable, but that man truly doesn’t want to go into the Pod for one reason or another, and Jezebel trusts him to know what he wants done with his body. Empathy might be a new thing for her, but Waylon has definitely brought that aspect of her personality back out.

“If you do, I’ll go to dinner with you,” Jezebel blurts out. Andrew pauses, and holds up his hand to the guards inside, who stop with Eddie in between them. The patient himself freezes, head turned toward the observation area. Jezebel can’t see his face at this distance, but if she could, she’d see that his blue eyes are full of hope. Jezebel thought that the offer might get through to Andrew- the doctor’s been trying to get her to dine with him for basically her entire career at Murkoff- three long months.

Waylon turns to her in question. “Really,” Andrew asks slowly with a grin, and Jezebel ignores her friend for now.

“Really. All you have to do is let Gluskin go back to his cell,” Jezebel nods. At Andrew’s raised eyebrow when she mentioned Eddie's name, she gestures at the computer screen. “Read his name.”

“And you’ll fix the machine,” Andrew adds.

Jezebel swallows harshly. “I don’t feel comfortable with that,” she meekly says.

“Then no.” Andrew goes to gesture to the men inside.

“I’ll fix the machine,” Waylon jumps in.

Andrew stops and smiles. “Deal.” Andrew steps over to a microphone and turns it on. “Let Mr. Gluskin back in his cell. He gets a reprieve today. Courtesy of his new friends,” Andrew says with a smirk, gesturing to Waylon and Jezebel. Gluskin looks like he sags in relief.

“Thank you, thank you,” Eddie cries as he’s brought back the way he had come, looking at Waylon and Jezebel.

“You’re welcome,” Jezebel says quietly as she watches the man get escorted out.

“-restaurant of my choosing,” Andrew muses, and Jezebel is brought back to the deal she had made.

“Nothing too spicy,” Jezebel sighs.

“Of course not. Thai food?”

“Never had it.”

“You like Chinese?”

“Yes.”

“You’ll like Thai,” Andrew grins. He extends his hand to Jezebel, who goes to shake it. But Andrew holds her hand and brings the back of it up to his lips, where he presses a kiss there. “I’ll come pick you up at six.” The young woman can feel his wet breath puffing over her skin.

“I’ll tell you my address later,” Jezebel manages to speak while repressing the urge to yank her hand back. Andrew holds her for a moment longer before allowing her to gently slip free.

“No need. I know where you live,” Andrew says casually.

Jezebel stiffens. “How?”

“It’s in your file.”

“Why were you looking in my file,” Jezebel questions, as politely as she can manage.

“Blaire and I are friends,” Andrew grins.

_Why am I not surprised,_ Jezebel thinks sarcastically. She nods.

“It’s a date,” Andrew smiles, and Waylon takes the seat and fixes the machine. Jezebel only hangs around for him, even though Andrew seems totally disinterested in the man, instead looking almost exclusively at her.

Waylon finishes the job soon, and the pair make their escape. 

As soon as they turn the corner, Jezebel sags against the wall.

“Jesus, Jess, what did you do back there,” Waylon asks of the twenty-year-old. Waylon is only a year her senior, but he still acts as a somewhat paternal figure, or maybe more fraternal.

“I don’t know, I don’t know,” Jezebel shakes her head. “I just- he looked so scared, y’know? And I just couldn’t let him go in there, Waylon, I just couldn’t.”

“I know the feeling.”

Jezebel looks up in surprise. “You do? Sometimes I think I shouldn’t be working here at all, but God, they pay so well, and where else can I get a job that pays well with zero experience,” Jezebel bemoans. “I have bills to pay.”

Waylon gently lays his hand on her shoulder and squeezes.

“And don’t you think it’s weird that we don’t actually _know_ what goes on with the patients here, and all the doctors are so twitchy about what the machine in there actually _does_ , and maybe I can get Andrew to cough something up tonight if I can get him to drink a bit,” Jezebel’s rambling now, so thankful to have someone to bounce ideas off of. Waylon just stands there and nods and looks thoughtful to everything she’s saying, and she can tell he’s thought the same things. “And yeah, the whole women not being welcome in tech fields thing, I get that, but I’m literally the _only woman working here_ and when he interviewed me, Blaire seemed almost completely uninterested until he saw my medical history, and he asked about the hysterectomy,” Jezebel continues.

“You had a hysterectomy,” Waylon stops her, and she takes in a much-needed breath.

“Yeah, when I was a kid, the doctor said something was wrong when I was like, 12, right after I got my first period, and I had a complete hysterectomy,” Jezebel shrugs. “He was my father’s friend,” she pauses slightly before saying ‘my father.’ She doesn’t like to talk about her childhood, and Waylon’s never pushed.

“We shouldn’t talk about this out in the open,” Waylon says quietly, falling silent as a guard walks past. “Come on,” he invites, and Jezebel follows him to a server room. She knows it, she sometimes comes into the dark when she gets a migraine. The blue lights from the servers don’t aggravate the headache like the bright white lights outside do. Waylon freezes so suddenly that Jezebel crashes into his back. She peers around to find Jeremy Blaire lounging in a chair.

“Someone’s been telling stories outside of class,” Blaire says, one half of his face illuminated by a laptop screen. Jezebel doesn’t recognize the device, nor the mug that reads COFFEE on the other side of Blaire, though she kinda wishes she had one for herself, because she likes that sort of thing.

Waylon grabs Jezebel’s arm and the pair turn to go, but they’re shoved back roughly by a security guard, and Jezebel spots a couple more behind him.

“On the floor! _Down!_ Hands where I can see them,” the guard orders, even though the pair are obviously not threatening to him. Jezebel lands hard on the floor next to her co-worker, and she glares at Blaire. Waylon is snatched up and slammed against the wall, where he sits down hard.

“What the fuck, Blaire,” she demands, scurrying over to her friend and holding his hand, checking Waylon’s head for injuries. He seems fine, and she glares at the guards and her boss in turn.

“Manners,” Blaire smiles at her. “Honestly, I’d really rather you weren’t here, but since you are, it seems as if you’ll have to be punished right alongside Mr. Park here.”

“I’m sorry, Jess,” Waylon says.

“Don’t be. We’ll be fine,” Jezebel soothes him.

“I highly doubt that,” Blaire cuts in. “Waylon Park, consulting contract 8208,” Blaire begins, picking up Waylon’s laptop and bringing it close, the glow from the screen illuminating his somewhat severe-looking face. “Software engineer with a level 3 security clearance.” Jezebel mentally nods- same as her, except her contract number is higher because she’d been hired later. “Graduated cum laude from Berkeley-” _Go, Waylon_ , Jezebel praises in her mind. “-but still somehow not smart enough to realize that the last thing a fly ought to do in a spider’s web is wiggle,” Blair smirks. _What?_ He drops the laptop, slightly separating the screen from the keyboard. Waylon jerks his foot back slightly to avoid it being crushed.

“What are you talking about,” Jezebel demands. 

Blaire ignores her as he leans over and puts his now-free hands on his knees, attention focused on Waylon. “Somehow dumb enough to think that a borrowed laptop, onion router, and firewall patch would be enough to fool the world’s leading supplier in biometric security.”

Jezebel looks at Waylon- the man looks scared. The process Blaire described would be enough to escape basic detection. “If you had come to me, I could have rerouted it so that it looked like the hack was coming from outside,” Jezebel says to her friend.

“Didn’t want you involved.”

“Well, that didn’t work out, did it,” Jezebel asks, eyebrow raised. Waylon’s mouth quirks up, just a little. “What’d you do?”

“Tried to expose Murkoff,” Waylon replies.

“Good man,” Jezebel smiles.

“Stupid, Mr. Park,” Blaire continues, as if he had never stopped. He taps a finger lightly against his own temple. “More than stupid. In fact, that was crazy.” Jezebel’s blood runs cold at the implication Blaire is driving home, and next to her, Waylon stiffens as well. Blaire finally turns his attention to her. “And you, offering your help when you’re already cornered, are just as crazy,” Blaire remarks.

“Fuck,” Jezebel swears.

“I’m afraid we’re going to have you two committed,” Blaire says, straightening. He doesn’t sound contrite about that fact, even falsely so. “Mr. Park, Ms. Ellis, will you two willingly submit to forced confinement?”

“No,” Waylon and Jezebel proclaim together.

“Did you hear that, agent,” Blaire asks the guard at the forefront behind him.

“They said ‘yes,’ Mr. Blaire,” the guard replies.

“Fuck you,” Jezebel snaps.

“Great. Oh, and did I just hear them volunteer for the Morphogenic Engine program,” Blaire questions.

Jezebel and Waylon hold hands tightly.

“That’s what I heard, Mr. Blaire,” the guard says.

“Kiss-ass,” Jezebel spits at him. She gets a kick in the ribs for her trouble.

“That was brave indeed, Jezebel and Waylon. The Murkoff Corporation and the onward march of science both appreciate your bravery and sacrifice. Maybe you could administer them both a light anesthetic,” Blaire suggests.

“Gladly.”

“You’re not getting anywhere close to us with needles,” Jezebel growls. She can fight, she knows she can. She’s stronger than she looks.

“Who said anything about needles,” Blaire asks, and Jezebel is confused for all of a second until two guards step forward and fists fly at their faces. Jezebel and Waylon both put up their arms, but they can’t stop the blows. Jezebel fares better than Waylon, because the man needs two punches and a kick in the face, while she needs three punches and her own weight makes her head bang on the cement floor. But both succumb to unconsciousness.


	2. So We Meet Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waylon and Jezebel have made it this far in the asylum alone. And then they see a familiar face. As much as they hate it, they need him. And he needs them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my gosh, you guys! I never thought that this story I had barely thought about would get more than 300 views! Thank you for all the people who bookmarked and waited for my slow butt to write another chapter. Hopefully it won't take forever to write the next one.  
> Warning: Eddie uses a slur briefly in this chapter, see end notes for more information.  
> This chapter- and entire story, honestly because I built out from this idea- is inspired by this fic and this prompt.  
> Oh, and in case you guys didn't see, I changed the first chapter a bit. Nothing major, I just tweaked Jezebel slightly so that it would make sense that she's acting the way she is in this chapter.

"Waylon," Jezebel cries, hand extending to her friend. While Jezebel's weight had weakened the wood, Waylon's had proved to be the final straw, and the man had broken the rain-rotted wood and fallen from the tower. He free-fell what looks to be at least three or four stories. Probably more. Jezebel brings up her camcorder, scanning desperately, trying to find him. She spots movement, and sighs in relief when she sees Waylon painfully get to his feet. He seems uninjured, for the most part, as he looks up and slowly gives her a thumbs-up. She shakes her head even as she smiles. Waylon is a miracle. She pauses when Waylon whips his head around before scurrying away.

Jezebel briefly debates climbing down the tower to meet him, but she quickly discards that idea. Not only is she likely to fall to her death, but she'd only end up right in the path of whatever had startled Waylon. Her best course of action is to go forward and work her way through the hallways to Waylon. Nodding to herself, she reaches forward and opens the door to the tower.

The staircase is narrow and she needs the use of her night vision to go down it, but at least no one is hiding somewhere just out of sight. The hallways she travels are relatively free of debris and she meets no one, and she hopes that Waylon has been granted some good fortune to balance out that nasty fall. It takes a little while before Jezebel lands quietly in the area she suspects Waylon must have ended up. She creeps forward and rolls under a desk when she hears voices. She curses silently; there are at least two- no, three- people, talking to each other, fairly close to her. The conversation moves to the other end of the room, and Jezebel steels herself for a quick peek. She sees a man standing at the far wall, staring at a bookshelf. She realizes with a blink as he gestures- he's talking to himself. She watches, fascinated, as his voice switches. He must have multiple personalities, and Jezebel nods at her good luck. A hand closes around her arm, just above her elbow.

Jezebel is about to put that elbow through her attacker's nose when she turns and sees Waylon's gentle face. She lets out the breath she had been holding and embraces him. 

"We have to be careful," he breathes into her ear, so quiet she barely catches it. He leads her carefully away, keeping down, until they reach a small space between two bookshelves. 

"When don't we," Jezebel asks quietly, continuing their conversation. 

Waylon gives her his best bitchface, and Jezebel's mouth quirks up at one corner. "I'm serious," Waylon whispers. "Those guys are talking about some guy with a blade, how they can sacrifice someone to him," Waylon informs her, eyes wide with fear.

"Relax, it's fine," Jezebel soothes him as she looks around, checking the perimeter. "One guy. Multiple personalities," she says.

Waylon breathes a sigh of relief. "Good. One man we can avoid. Three would have been trickier," he admits.

"A gift for the Groom," the man says, somewhere near them but thankfully behind them. The pair runs forward, and Waylon takes Jezebel's hand, leading her to an empty space.

Jezebel takes the lead, using night vision in the dark space. She draws her fist back when she sees a man standing there, but huffs quietly and lets it drop when the rope around his neck registers in her brain. She gently coaxes Waylon past the body, blocking his view of it as much as she can as she ushers him forward. He lets her take lead again when they're far enough away. They shimmy through a slim gap, Jezebel checking to make sure the coast is clear before gesturing Waylon through. She leads them through more bookshelves, when a deformed face in front of hers makes her wish she had free use of her hands. 

"Quiet," the man hisses, looking around. Jezebel casts her eyes to Waylon, and they meet gazes briefly, both thinking the same thing. This man seems saner than the others. That makes him dangerous, Jezebel knows. "If they catch us, they'll give us to him," the patient whispers, warning the others. "The man downstairs." The fact that it could be understood that the patient could very well be talking about the Devil is not lost on Jezebel. "Very bad, very bad. God, oh God," the man whispers, slipping away. Jezebel takes as deep a breath as the tight quarters allow her to, and shimmies free of the bookcase. 

Jezebel leads Waylon through a hole in the wall, coming into a narrow passageway between the inner wall and the sloping outer roof. Jezebel has to mind her head here, having to keep it tilted. 

"Rats in the walls! Kill the rats," the man screams, pounding his fists on the wall very close to Jezebel. Waylon pushes her forward, overriding her first instinct to put her own fist through the thin wood and punch the patient in the face. Jezebel runs forward a distance, pausing and being still once they're far enough away, ignoring Waylon's prodding to get her to keep moving. One of the other older personalities mocks the younger one for hearing things, and Jezebel smiles. She hears a faint rustling of paper behind her- Waylon must have found and stowed away a document.

Jezebel walks forward, keeping watch as Waylon carefully pushes aside a metal bin containing pipes. Jezebel debates grabbing a couple for weapons, but as soon as she lays a hand on them, she decides against it. They're thin and hollow- they'd likely break the first or second time they tried to use it. They slip through the hole that Waylon had unveiled, and Jezebel soon realizes that the only way forward is up and over a wall, landing them right in the 'family's' territory. Jezebel steels herself before she climbs up, and hears Waylon take a deep, quiet breath before he joins her.

"Two gifts," the youngest personality says, and Jezebel grabs Waylon's arm to keep him from bolting, casting her eyes around to see where the man is. Speed does no good when you run face-first into who you're running from. 

"What do you think," a slightly older personality asks, and Jezebel finally sees him as he flings open a door on the far end of the room. 

"Oh, they'll do," either the father or the grandfather says, but Jezebel had already released Waylon, and the man had wasted no time in taking off, Jezebel right behind him. They turn a corner, and Waylon throws up his arms to block the meat cleaver the patient is wielding. Jezebel drags him back and pushes him to the side, and Waylon only receives a glancing blow from the knife. 

"Go," Jezebel barks. She shoves Waylon up and through a perfect square hole in the wall, climbing up after him and taking the lead into unfamiliar territory.

"Here comes your bride," the patient says softly, though he walks away as he says the rest of the sentence, and it's lost in the space between them. Jezebel focuses ahead as she descends the stairs and winds up in what she supposes must have been the recreation hall when this place was a real asylum. There are tables all around the room with sewing machines on them, long out of use. She shivers slightly at the breeze coming through, but at least it has fabric covering the broken window. 

"Up," Jezebel orders, briskly tapping a table with her fingers. She finds thread soon enough, there are bobbins full of it in the machines. But a needle will prove more difficult. Anything sharp must have been discarded long ago by Murkoff staff, or scavenged by patients desperate for any semblance of a weapon. She is about to turn to tell Waylon the bad news when something glows on her small LCD screen. She smirks and roots under a loose floorboard, pulling up a small silver needle. "Ta-da," she flourishes, brandishing the prize. Waylon closes his screen and sets his camera beside him, extending his hand for Jezebel's so he can provide light while she has two free hands to stitch him up.

Jezebel surrenders the camcorder easily, pulling a lighter she had taken from a doctor's coat out of her pocket and sterilizing the needle. She threads it confidently. 

Waylon holds his breath when Jezebel pierces his skin with the needle. "Sorry, not as sharp as it should be," Jezebel apologizes, knotting one end of the thread. 

"How bad," Waylon asks.

"Not at all. Maybe an inch deep. Didn't even reach bone," Jezebel says brightly.

"I hate this," Waylon breathes. She knows he's not just talking about the stitches. 

"I know," Jezebel nods. "Talk to me," she offers, knowing that it will help keep the man's mind off of everything going on around them.

"On the bright side, I don't think too many patients will be around here," Waylon says, eyes scanning the room. It doesn't do much good without night vision, but the act had quickly become ingrained in him. Look around. Know where you are and how to get out, fast. 

"Why's that," Jezebel asks, neatly stitching up his cut.

"They seem terrified of this Groom character," he points out.

"Well, that doesn't bode well for us," Jezebel replies.

"We always find vents and things," Waylon says.

Jezebel huffs a laugh. "They're easier for you than me," she reminds him. Jezebel is taller than Waylon at 5'9, compared to his tiny 5'5. That, combined with her upbringing ensuring she has a fair amount of muscle, and the fact that her body always padded those muscles with fat, she's bigger than the slim fellow computer tech. Her thighs are rounded, her shoulders are a little wider and softer, and her hips are wide. All of that ensures that vents are a tight fit, but a necessary evil. 

"Sorry," Waylon offers.

"Did you hear anything else about the Groom," Jezebel asks, giving Waylon an out. There's nothing to be sorry for. 

"A name. Well, the tail end of one," Waylon admits. "Sounded like 'pin.' Maybe Kingpin?"

"Kingpin? More of a nickname than a name," Jezebel points out.

"Pushpin?"

"Pushpin," Jezebel repeats, smiling with one half of her mouth like she usually does.

"Yeah, well, you try thinking of last names," Waylon counters, slightly miffed. Jezebel concedes silently, knotting up the final stitch and pushing the needle into her sleeve to keep for later. She bends down to break the thread with her teeth.

Waylon turns his head and spies a flash of white that hadn't been there before.

"Run," Waylon orders, vaulting off the table. Jezebel grabs his camera and follows without question, shoving the bobbin of thread in her pocket. They run themselves into a room where the stench stops them both in their tracks.

Jezebel has slaughtered animals before, has had her fair share of injuries. The coppery smell of blood is not unfamiliar to her. But this was more than blood. This was disease and feces and urine and the acrid scent of pure, unadulterated terror. The last two aren't necessarily mutually exclusive, Jezebel admits grimly to herself. 

Jezebel opens her camera and pans over and sees a disfigured corpse. The first thing she sees is a head peering at her from a stitched-up stomach. Beady, black, insect eyes drive into her very soul, and she forces herself to pan up the body of the main corpse. It's sitting back slightly, legs spread. Next to it, rigged so it stands upright, is another body, hands tied to the closest hand of the corpse. It seems vaguely familiar to Jezebel, but the memory refuses to spark.

"Like childbirth," Waylon says, as if reading her mind. She turns to him, keeping the camera on the scene in front of them. There are tears in his eyes, probably brought on by the stench and no small degree of fear. Jezebel looks forward again, spotting a massive, hulking figure come around the corner and into frame. Jezebel shoves Waylon behind her and is preparing to run when she pans up and spots the man's face. And holy shit, she knows him.

"Gluskin," Jezebel asks, looking into the man's face. He freezes, looking at her. She was right- it is him. Him in a suit he had obviously stitched together from other clothes, but him nonetheless. "Eddie Gluskin," she says his full name, awed. She won't run now. 

"Gluskin," Waylon says, and yes, the name he had caught  _had_ had a 'pin' sound at the end. He had just added a letter.

"You," Gluskin says, raising his arm and pointing at both of them slowly. "You saved me from the pod that day," he says, furrowing his eyebrows.

"Yes," Waylon nods. Eddie looks at Waylon carefully, then turns his attention to Jezebel, going from toes to head slowly, as if trying to decipher a puzzle. Jezebel's eyes catch on his painful-looking blisters on one side of his face. She's surprised the man can speak clearly with them covering his lips like that. She shudders slightly at his blood-red eyes- it looks as though every bit of white had been overtaken by red, making his bright blue eyes look eerie in his face.

"Patients' uniforms," the man mumbles to himself, rubbing at the right side of his forehead and closing his right eye. 

Jezebel narrows her eyes, a sense of dread settling in her chest. Eddie doubles over, groaning, clutching his head with both of his large hands.

"Eddie," Waylon exclaims, stepping forward. Jezebel widens her eyes and throws her arm out to stop him, already backing up to create space in between them and Gluskin. Gluskin straightens, wincing, and he and Jezebel lock eyes. Jezebel knows before the man even opens his mouth.

"Run, now," Gluskin orders, screwing up his eyes. 

Jezebel whirls and shoves Waylon, making the man stumble but he's soon racing ahead of her, with her following behind, a barrier between him and Gluskin. 

"Darling," Gluskin rasps, ecstatic. He sounds so different from the deep, measured voice he had before. He seems manic, desperate, pleading. Jezebel is reminded of their first meeting, when the man she's running from had begged for his life, and words had tumbled out of her mouth to save him, for once not having her brain to keep her mouth in check. Her hip knocks viciously against a corner of a table as she rounds it, making her stumble slightly. The pair of ex-employees manage to get far enough away that it seems as though the Groom doesn't know where they are. "Did I frighten you? I'm awfully sorry; I didn't mean to," the man apologizes, and Jezebel gently pulls Waylon to slow, creeping around quietly. Gluskin's voice has an accent now, though it might be just a hint of a lisp. Jezebel isn't surprised- the sores on his mouth probably cause that. This is the Gluskin that the Engine created and twisted, so he presents the effects of the Morphogenic Engine 'treatment.'

Waylon and Jezebel share a slight shiver. Jezebel takes the lead, determined. She closes a door behind them, hoping it will ensure that the Groom won't think that they went this way. Jezebel cocks her head and looks back when he starts singing, but he's too far away for her to identify the tune, or even the words he's saying. Waylon looks ahead at the mess of rooms that no doubt end in dead-ends every possible direction. He's reminded of the myth of the Labyrinth, with its beast guarding it. They're running from the beast now.

Waylon pauses up ahead at an empty elevator shaft, the elevator waiting a floor or two beneath them. The ancient elevator will make far too much noise and take far too long to do them any good, but Waylon is eyeing a ladder laying temptingly against the opposite wall. If he leaps, he can reach it. 

"We'll cripple ourselves," Jezebel whispers, dragging him away from the siren call of freedom.

Jezebel threads her fingers through the grate on a stairway door, pulling it open enough for Waylon to slip under the padlock. On the other side, Waylon pushes the door out, providing the clearance Jezebel needs to join him.

Waylon nearly throws up whatever remains in his stomach when he sees the multitude of bodies hanging from the gymnasium roof. Jezebel tugs him along, and he directs his camera up, zooming in on mutilated genitals. 

"Like Blackbeard's brides," Jezebel says quietly, assured that Gluskin is nowhere near them- they haven't heard his voice in ages. 

"What," Waylon asks, confused.

"That story about a pretty bride who can go into any room of the castle she pleases but one, but she goes into the forbidden room anyway and she finds the corpses of her husbands' previous brides, and she goes to leave but her husband is there, and he kills her even though she had been his favorite of all his wives, because her greed and curiosity had gotten the better of her," Jezebel explains in a whisper.

"Oh. Bluebeard, not Blackbeard," Waylon says. "Blackbeard is the pirate."

Jezebel accepts the information with a soft hum, letting go of Waylon's hand and creeping into what looks like a chapel, with a mannequin at the front wearing a wedding gown, waiting for her groom.

"Darling," Gluskin announces happily. Waylon bolts and shimmies through a slim gap, looking back and waiting for Jezebel. She goes to leap a desk to save time, but fingers enclose around her throat and she's swung upright, causing her camera to fling forward. Waylon grabs it and puts it on the floor next to the other camera, safe in his space.

Jezebel grabs and scratches at Gluskin's hand; hand, singular, he's holding her with one hand so high that her toes barely brush the floor and she can't get any leverage to get air.

"Come on out, darling," Gluskin simpers sweetly, sounding as if it's taking no effort at all to hold Jezebel. Jezebel thrashes violently, but soon stills, realizing that the man has far more strength and she needs to save whatever breath she can get. Gluskin is focused entirely on Waylon, who's splitting his attention between Gluskin's wide, manic grin and Jezebel, who's fighting for every breath that passes through Gluskin's meaty fingers. Gluskin's eyes darken before Waylon's very eyes. "Unless this is your lover," he snaps, shaking Jezebel like a naughty puppy. "I'll snap his neck, and then kill you for being an ungrateful, unfaithful, whore," he snarls, spitting the last three words slowly. 

 _He's got it backwards,_ Jezebel thinks dizzily.  _He thinks I'm a man and Waylon's a girl._

"No! Please don't," Waylon begs. He can't watch Jess be killed in front of him while he cowers. He can't.

Gluskin sets Jezebel down a little, the only sign of fatigue he's shown. Jezebel pushes up with her toes and sucks in some much-needed air. Jezebel meets Waylon's terrified gaze and mouths,  _it's ok._ She knows that if he tries to save her, Gluskin will fly into a rage and kill them both. 

"Let go," Waylon says softly, extending his arm within his room, placating the patient.

Gluskin cocks his head like a confused puppy, furrowing his eyebrows at Waylon. "Darling," he questions. His eyebrows draw together, his confusion replaced by fury. "You'd choose this pig over me," he roars, making Waylon flinch backwards. "He'd never be a fit father! He'd let his children suffer and starve and he'd beat them!"

"Eddie, please," Waylon begs.

Gluskin relaxes immediately. "Oh, darling," he croons. "You know my name."

"Of course I do, Eddie," Waylon nods. 

Jezebel seizes her opportunity when Gluskin's fingers loosen a fraction. She takes a deep breath and shoves her fingers under his, clamping her teeth down on the flesh between them. 

"Prick," Gluskin roars, dropping Jezebel immediately. Jezebel surges forward, using her legs to propel herself as she shoves through the slim gap, Waylon pulling her through. She forces the gap just slightly wider, and Gluskin shoves his arm in, frantically trying to grab either. Waylon and Jezebel are already pressed against the back wall, well out of reach. 

"It's ok, it's ok," Waylon soothes his hand up and down Jezebel's arm as she retches. He brings her into a loose hug, and Jezebel flips Gluskin off behind his back.

Gluskin growls and slams his weight against the blockage, making the bookcase shudder and succeeding only in forcing his shoulder into the gap. He is now well and truly stuck; he cannot come any further forward, and is both unable and unwilling to go backwards. 

"Eddie, stop that," Waylon scolds him as Jezebel suspects he might scold one of his boys, and she glares at the man who had nearly strangled her to death. She rubs the front of her throat, scowling at the thought of finger-shaped bruises forming there.

"Bastard," Gluskin spits at Jezebel, who just smiles toothily and without humor. If Waylon had seen her smile, he would have shivered. Gluskin rocks forward, face scrunching up and grinding his teeth, wincing at the obvious pain he's causing himself.

"Eddie, you're just hurting yourself," Waylon exclaims, unthinking. When the man freezes at once, Waylon realizes that he's made a dangerous mistake. A dangerous mistake, he thinks, looking at how Eddie returns his full attention to Waylon, but perhaps a necessary one. This man is insane. Yes, Waylon knows the story of the violent serial killer, and Eddie Gluskin was mad long before he ever stepped foot into Mount Massive Asylum, but the Engine was what broke an already strained man into two, maybe more.

"Darling," Eddie sighs, tears in his eyes. Whether they're from pain or happiness, Waylon can't say. But he does have to fight his paternal instinct that's telling him to step forward and wipe away those tears. He has to remember if he gets any closer than he already is, Eddie will be able to grab him. "Come here," he says, offering his hand palm-up, like a gentleman asking to dance.

"No, Eddie," Waylon denies him gently.

"Come here," Eddie demands, gesturing as authoritatively as he can with only one arm available at his disposal in a much-too-small space.

"No."

"Come  _here_ ," Eddie yells, gestures becoming desperate, and Jezebel is there, at Waylon's back, pulling him back gently. Eddie snarls and thrashes. "Come here, come here,  _come here you stupid worthless bitch,_ " Eddie demands.

"Enough," Jezebel snarls, shoving Waylon behind her and glaring into Gluskin's face. 

Gluskin stills and growls at her. "I'm going to rip you apart," he promises darkly.

"Yeah? Well you can't do that trapped inside a bookshelf, can you, numb nuts," Jezebel snaps at him. Her voice is wrecked, though she isn't letting that stop her, no matter how much it cracks and how much her throat hurts, begging her to take a break from speaking. She will not take this.

"Don't antagonize him," Waylon reprimands her, pulling her away and thus breaking their eye contact. Jezebel turns away from Gluskin and towards Waylon. "Help me with this."

Jezebel reaches down and pries up debris that's blocking the only other exit from the small room. With Waylon's help, they get a scant inch of clearance before the wood slips from Waylon's fingers, prompting Jezebel to let go in the interest of self-preservation. Jezebel braces one foot against some sturdy wood in the pile and clambers up to the top of the doorframe, pushing strongly at the top of the debris to no avail. Jezebel huffs and hops down, trying to pull some debris out of the pile. She might be able to do it, if given hours. Hours that they don't have with Gluskin breathing down their necks. She'd rather chew her own arm off, or, better yet, bite Gluskin's head off. 

"Well, fuck," Jezebel sums up their situation eloquently.

"Such language," Gluskin intones. "And in front of a lady," he says, gazing adoringly at Waylon.

"You shut up," Jezebel says, without turning around. She eyes the debris warily. "Well, we can't lift it. There's too much to push from the top, and I could clear it out, but we don't have the time, especially not with this one," she thumbs over her shoulder at Gluskin, who makes a noise of disagreement at being referred to that way.

"I could get it up, darling," Gluskin says, voice dripping with innuendo. 

"What did I say about shutting up," Jezebel snaps at him, voice cracking.

"Easy, let your voice rest," Waylon says gently. He rolls his shoulders, and Jezebel hears a series of small cracks before he sighs. "Well, I guess we just have to wait Eddie out," he shrugs. "He was lucid before, it's only a matter of time before he's lucid again," he points out.

Jezebel sighs. "There's not anything else we can do," she says, taking a seat on the floor. Waylon settles next to her. She grabs her own camera from the floor, and pulls out the documents she had picked up. Waylon follows her lead, and the man glances up, seeing Eddie look at the papers and then Waylon, seeming slightly confused. But as soon as he meets Waylon's eyes, the confusion melts away, leaving a smile on his face. 

"Darling," Eddie murmurs.

"Frank, that had to be the cannibal dude," Jezebel says, ignoring Gluskin. She skims the papers in her hands, raising her eyebrows at the note of his decreased weight and his refusal of food. "I suppose Mr. Manera found what he likes to eat."

"Is that the guy we found who had shoved a guard's head through a microwave, was eating his intestines raw, and said that he loved him before chasing us through the asylum," Waylon asks, deadpan.

"The very same."

"The one you said would be fine where he was because he had plenty of meat and wouldn't eat us," he asks.

"Ok, are you going to keep bringing that up?"

"Yes."

"I was wrong, ok? Dude was crazy beyond my wildest dreams and chased us with a saw," Jezebel rolls her eyes. 

"And threw us in a crematorium oven to cook."

"We got out."

Waylon scowls at her.

"That sounds frightening for a woman, darling," Eddie tries to sympathize. "If I were with you, no one would dare come near you to do such horrid things."

Waylon looks down and starts adding to his notes on the backs of documents, using Jezebel's when he runs out of room. 

Jezebel sits back against the wall, stretching her legs and tangling them with Waylon's. The man simply uses her as an armrest and continues to write. She takes deep breaths hoping to soothe her abused throat. She starts to hum a song; it winds up broken because of her throat flat-out refusing to produce certain notes, but it's recognizable as a tune.

Eddie pauses and tilts his head, listening. "What is that," he spits out, not wanting to talk to Jezebel but wanting to know the song.

Jezebel, finding no reason to ignore him, looks over at him. " _Que Sera Sera,_ " she informs him.

"Oh, I know that one," Waylon picks up his head, putting aside his pencil. "When I was just a little girl, I asked my mother 'what shall I be,'" Waylon sings softly. "'Will I be pretty? Will I be rich?' Here's what she said to me."

"' _Que sera sera,'_ " Jezebel joins in, singing quietly. "'Whatever will be, will be. The future's not ours to see.  _Que sera sera._ '"

The trio falls silent. "How'd you know that," Jezebel asks Waylon, and he notices that her voice sounds better already. 

Waylon stiffens when the question registers, glancing out of the corner of his eye at Eddie, who's staring into the distance. He taps his heart, looking back at Jezebel. Jezebel is confused for all of a second before it hits her- Lisa. Lisa must have taught it to him at some point, maybe as a lullaby for his children.

"What about you? How did you know it? Did your mother sing it to you," Waylon asks, curious.

Both Jezebel and Eddie tense up at the word 'mother.' "No," Jezebel admits. "I...never had a mother," she shrugs. "She died. During childbirth with me," she explains. "There was a neighbor I had, she used to sing it to her kids. On a clear, bright day, with both of our windows open, I could hear it if the wind carried it over to me."

Waylon frowns. "I'm sorry about your mom. But wait, why could you only hear it then," he asks.

"It was too far away," Jezebel says, ignoring his apology. Again, there was no need to apologize, and so there was no need to pretend there was. "I grew up on a farm. In Texas," she explains, seeing Waylon was still confused.

"Farm," Eddie repeats, and Waylon and Jezebel both snap their heads to look at him; his voice was slow. He closes his eyes and blinks them open, going to touch his head with his right hand and finding his arm pinned. He frowns and looks around himself, eyes landing on the two computer techs. "I suppose this is your fault, somehow," he says.

"Don't blame us," Jezebel grunts, gathering the papers and easily straightening them. "You were the one who tried to strangle me," she says, standing and putting the documents inside her jumpsuit and zipping it up. She noticed that Eddie had looked at Waylon while she had to unzip her jumpsuit, exposing her skin briefly. She's begrudgingly thankful, but won't mention it. Neither will he.

"Did I," Eddie asks, seeming unbothered.

"Yes," Jezebel rolls her eyes. "Don't you rememb-" Jezebel stops herself, looking over Eddie carefully. His entire demeanor had changed when he had hunted them, even down to his voice. It was probably similar to the man upstairs who had herded them down here in the first place. A separate personality. "Oh. You don't know what happens during your episodes, do you."

"No," Eddie growls, angry at that fact. Jezebel doesn't blame him.

"How old are you," Waylon asks, now on his feet and documents stored in the same place as Jezebel's.

"Why," Jezebel and Eddie ask, equally confused.

"Just answer, Eddie."

"Thirty," Eddie answers.

"Oh," Jezebel says softly. He's not that much older than them.

All three freeze in place at the sound of footsteps behind Eddie. 

"Oh, fuck, not again," Jezebel growls to herself.

"The Groom's trapped," a gleeful voice announces. 

Waylon peers under Eddie's left arm and Eddie glares daggers at the patient. He runs off, probably to get backup. "We can do him, we can do him," the man cheers.

Eddie grabs a shelf with his right hand and tries to heave his body into the small space, but his broad shoulders and barrel chest aren't doing him any favors here. He changes tactics, pulling with all his might backwards to free his arm, but the gap had closed tight behind his shoulder when he had originally forced it in. He's better off going forward than undoing his progress.

"Fuck, shit, Hell, fuck," Eddie swears to himself as he struggles. 

Waylon makes a decision while Jezebel's back is turned, trying to pull away some debris from the exit. "We'll bring you in if you promise to help us get out," Waylon says to Eddie.

"What," Jezebel and Eddie say, deadpan.

"We broke you out of your mania," Waylon talks fast. "By singing."

Eddie narrows his eyes at the slim man, suspecting he's being lied to. But why on Earth would someone lie just to get him into a tiny space with them? "Fine," he snaps, interested in keeping himself alive.

Waylon grabs Eddie's right hand, anchoring against his wrist, and pulls with everything he has. Jezebel swears the two are stretched out in a line for minutes, frozen there, and then with an almighty shove, Eddie must propel himself off of something with his legs because with a bright  _pop!_ he's inside, snarling and swearing and clutching his limp left arm, Waylon on his back on the floor. Eddie gets up and tilts the bookcase over, completely blocking the passage, along with their one way back. On the other side, the hunting party looks disappointed. Eddie flips them off with his good right arm. 

Jezebel knows what happened. Eddie's left arm had become dislocated when he came through, likely from having to fit through the tight squeeze between the doorframe and Eddie's own massive chest. She steps forward and painfully pops the man's joint back into place while he's looking the other way, making him howl and glare at her. The girl just smirks at him and raises an eyebrow. He deserves it for throttling her.

"Come on," Waylon interrupts the staring match. The two turn to him, and he gestures at the blocked exit. They walk forward, pulling away wood and spider-webbed shatter-resistant glass. Jezebel is thankful all over again for the calluses that her upbringing had forced her to develop. Once they have a significant pile in the corner, Eddie reaches down and pulls the piece of wood holding the whole thing together, and there's now enough clearance for Waylon to get under. The man drops to his belly and crawls through, waiting on the other side. Jezebel salutes Eddie sarcastically before taking her turn, turning around at the other side and taking the weight.

"Go," Jezebel grunts, and Eddie wastes no time in letting go and forcing his way under. Jezebel drops the weight once Eddie is fully through. 

"Now what," Waylon asks, watching Jezebel and Eddie brush small bits of wood and glass from their clothes and hair. 

"Now," Jezebel says, reaching out and cleaning up Waylon a little. "We go forward."

"I have keys," Eddie remarks. "We have to circle around, they're on the altar," he explains. 

"The altar as in the altar in the room you blocked us off from," Jezebel demands.

"If you wanted to face that crowd, you should have spoken up," Eddie offers.

"Enough, you two," Waylon stops them in their tracks. "If I have to play referee, I will lock you two in a room and let you duke it out," he growls, looking between them. Jezebel and Eddie grumble and quiet. "Eddie, do you know the way?"

"Yes."

"Lead on," Waylon offers. Eddie steps around him and starts down the hallway, Jezebel and Waylon behind him. 

"And you said I had the wrong idea about Manera," Jezebel gripes.

"You said he wouldn't try to eat us," Waylon snaps at her. 

"Oh, shut up. At least I didn't say, 'hey, let's team up! That'll be fun, right?' Wrong."

"It seems as though we are at a disadvantage," Eddie says, amused, from in front. He can hear them clearly, he just doesn't care. "You know my name," he says, looking over his shoulder. "I don't know yours."

"Waylon. Park," Waylon adds, figuring it was fair that he know his last name too. When Jezebel doesn't speak up, he gestures to her. "Jezebel Ellis. Call her Jess."

"Rude," Jezebel snaps at Waylon, who ignores her.

Eddie simply raises his eyebrows. He had assumed that the other one had also been male. It appears as though he was wrong. "And what is a girl doing here," he asks, frankly curious.

"Fuck you, that's why," Jezebel growls. Eddie waits. "I was hired."

"No," Eddie muses. "No, that can't be right. The Engine doesn't like females. It twists their minds and makes them believe they are pregnant and the bodies believe it, and then they die from the miscarriage. Those that wouldn't die would quickly be put into another asylum."

Jezebel glances at Waylon. She hadn't known that, and from the way the man looks slightly green, he hadn't either. Eddie rumbles a laugh in his chest, delighted. "The doctors speak freely around patients, as if we are dumb and deaf. I got quite a lot of information that way. Before," he scowls. Before he was put into the Engine program, Waylon and Jezebel finish silently. Eddie casts his eyes to Jezebel. "So, Jess," he says, smirking when she glares at him for using her name. "Why didn't that happen with you?"

"None of your business."

Eddie waits again. 

"Maybe I just have strong mental fortitude," she offers.

"The Engine is stronger, no matter how strong you think you are," he growls.

"None of your business," Jezebel snarls at him.

"Why? Are you a tranny," Eddie taunts.

"First of all," Jezebel growls, hands curling into fists. "Suck a fucking dick. Second of all, the term is 'transgender,' not 'tranny.' And it's an adjective, not a noun. You don't call someone 'a transgender,' they're a 'transgender man or woman' or 'trans,'" Jezebel snaps. "Third of all, complete hysterectomy," she admits. "Forced as a child."

Satisfied, Eddie nods curtly and turns on his heel, leading them once more through the maze.

After a few minutes, Waylon clears his throat. "Forced," he asks softly. He knows some of the story, that a doctor had said that there was an issue, but this was the first time she's used the word 'forced.'

"I'd rather not talk about it," Jezebel says through clenched teeth.

"Alright," Waylon says, dropping the subject immediately. 

Eddie leads silently through the twisting hallways. Waylon is reminded once again of the Labyrinth.  _This time, the Minotaur is on our side_ , he thinks grimly.  _Adventurers beware._ He shakes himself of the thought. Eddie is not a monster. He's a man. A rather sick man who Waylon will get help for once they burn Murkoff to the ground. Jezebel pauses beside him and goes around Eddie, making the men pause and watch as she walks to a pile of rubble and kneel, digging at it. She procures a fire axe, pulling it from the debris as she stands. She takes a few practice swings. Jezebel has not cut firewood in a long, long, time, but her muscles still remember the motions. 

"I'm surprised that's still there," Eddie says, slightly impressed. 

"I am but not at the same time," Jezebel says, coming closer with the axe resting against one shoulder. "An axe isn't exactly an easy tool to use. You need to have the strength to swing it and the dexterity to not chop off a piece of you when you're doing it," she smiles. "Someone probably grabbed this, realized they couldn't use it well, and either left it and the room caved on top of it or they buried it in hopes that no one with the skill to use it would find it," she shrugs.

"So, what now," Waylon asks, looking between Eddie and the newly-equipped Jezebel. 

"Now we have a better chance of getting out."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eddie uses the slur 'tranny' to refer to Jezebel briefly. He is quickly put in his place, mind you.
> 
> Guys I need your help. I have no idea where the story will go. So would you guys rather they stay in the asylum for a while, being set back by villains there, or would you rather I get them out in a timely fashion, and they then have to deal with villains in the outside world?


	3. Salivation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie, Jess, and Waylon sit down and make a plan.

"You're really worrying me, Jess," Waylon admits softly, watching the girl. The pair is following Eddie, who is several paces ahead, leading them back to the chapel to retrieve the keys.

"Me," Jess asks. "Why?"

"You're going back to how you were when you arrived in Colorado. Cold. Emotionless. Distant. You let the walls down a little with me, but," Waylon trails off, uncertain.

 "Waylon," Jess starts. "That's how I cope with all of this nonsense. I shut down," she explains. "We're in the middle of an asylum. Not a mental ward; an honest-to-God old-school asylum, with patients that our former employer warped and twisted to be as insane as possible, nearly ruthless monsters. Not to mention the murderous demon stalking the halls," the girl reminds the man. He shivers at the memory of the skeletal figure he glimpsed in his camera screen, back near the beginning of their journey. "My first goal is to get you and that camcorder out, Way," she tells him, gesturing to his death grip on the device. 

"You have a camcorder too," Waylon protests.

"Most of the footage is doubled with yours, you were way more thorough with yours," Jess waves the argument away. "Your footage is what's going to fuck Murkoff over." 

"As lovely as this heart-to-heart is," Eddie cuts in, backing toward them. "We have company."

The trio falls silent immediately, and they hear footsteps where their voices used to echo. Eddie backs up a step further, and Jess steps to her right, tightening the grip on her fire axe. Waylon wisely hides himself behind Eddie, raising his camcorder to be ready. A patient comes around the corner at the far side of the hallway, coming closer. The man is wringing his hands and muttering to the floor, not bothering to look up. Eddie pointedly clears his throat, but the man pays him no mind.

"Harmless," Jess says, resting the fire axe on her shoulder once more, dropping her left hand to her side. 

"In here," Waylon ushers, and he steps into an open door to his left. Eddie and Jess follow him, paying no attention to the patient as he meanders his way down the hall. There are beds all over the room in neat rows, and Waylon snags a battery off a side table, pocketing it. "Let me see that bite," he extends a hand to Eddie.

The man pauses before he lays the back of his hand in the smaller man's, and they all bow their heads to examine the wound. Eddie had noticed it, of course, but his focus had been outwards, not to his injury. This is the first time he's really taken a good look at it. Jezebel- because he assumes it must be the girl that hurt him- had truly bit him hard, leaving a full set of teeth impressions and a few spots of blood where her sharper canines broke the skin.

Waylon tuts nervously, starting a search around the room, opening drawers quietly. "Do you know how truly disgusting the human mouth is," he asks, annoyed and concerned. 

Eddie raises his hand to his face and examines it more closely. "You dug in deeply," he remarks to Jess.

"You had your hand around my throat at the time," Jess touches the front of her throat. Eddie casts his eyes to her, seeing red finger-shaped marks around her neck. They will bruise deeply in the next few hours. 

"I know," Eddie says simply.

Jess wanders off to another room right next door, closer to where the odd patient had come from. It was an office whose door has been kicked in. Whoever broke the door down seemed to have no interest in the contents of the desk, though Jess eyes a streak of blood out the door. Perhaps a wily Bride. Jess ignores it and sets to trying to open some drawers. They're locked, so she gets a paperclip and a bobby pin that's thankfully lying near the office supplies, and goes to work. She can hear the men conversing from next door.

 "No alcohol or even gauze," Waylon reports, coming back to Eddie.

"It wouldn't be kept here," Eddie shakes his head.

"I was hoping a patient might have made a stash after the breakout."

"No one is nearly lucid enough for that kind of foresight. The patients with any degree of sense would have stayed in the cellblocks," Eddie informs him.

"Where would the supplies be?"

"Down near the Engine."

"Is that the only place that medical supplies are stored," Waylon asks, incredulous. 

Eddie levels a look at the man that makes him squirm slightly. "They didn't care much if we got injured or sick. Not unless we were Engine test subjects."

Waylon notices the royal we. Eddie might not know it, but he identifies with his fellow patients, and that's at least a step away from the sociopath Waylon thought he'd be. To avoid answering, he looks around. "Where's Jess," he asks. Eddie leads him to where Jess had finally popped open the lock.

"What could we possibly want in there," Eddie asks as she starts rifling through the files. They are mostly blank forms to fill out, office chain of command things, but some orders bear signatures of higher-ups that she puts aside and Waylon stows away. 

 She smiles victoriously and pulls out a grey rectangle of paper, and she unfolds it to reveal a map of the asylum. 

"A map," Waylon says, impressed. "Why would that be here?"

"It's a big place. Especially for an intern," she raps her knuckles on the desk.

"Why do you say that," Eddie inquires.

"All the Engine stuff is marked some other bullshit on the map," she says, tapping her finger to where it simply says 'research labs' on the paper. "The office is close to the patients and they bothered to lock everything up," Jess tugs at a locked drawer. "And only interns have these," she says, picking up a box with a magnetic top that's designed for paperclips. "Intern." She spins in the chair, pleased with herself.

"You see more than you let on, don't you," Waylon asks, marveling at her. Jess nods primly, then grabs the axe she had leaned up against the desk and uses the back end of the blade to leverage open the remaining drawers; picking the lock had taken far too long. The first two clatter onto the floor noisily, making Waylon looks around nervously, but she learns to do it with less pressure so the entire drawer doesn't fall out. Waylon helps look, stowing away a couple of documents, but nothing else of value is found.

Eddie looks over Jess in a new light. He had already gathered enough to know that she was more likely than not abused, but there are more layers of mystery to his new companion.

"Avoid here, here, and here," Eddie says, pointing to various areas on the map when the techs are done, letting Jess grab a red pen and cross out the areas. "Large, open office areas," he explains. "This is the front door and security rooms, but when Murkoff sends a tactical team- which they will, riots have happened before- they will come through the front, and only the front. We should avoid it."

"There has to be a back entrance through the labs," Waylon rubs his hand across his mouth. 

"Maybe a loading bay, we did have vending machines," Jess points out. 

"Right. And with a rotating group of drivers that had no clue what was going on, there is bound to be looser security to not arouse suspicion."

Eddie watches, fascinated. The two co-workers seem to almost finish each other's sentences, they work together so seamlessly. Waylon is far more street-smart than Eddie first took him for.

Jess draws a tentative route from the Engine back through the asylum to where the edge of Eddie's territory is. "How far away is your stomping grounds," she asks Eddie.

"An hour, at the extreme outside. More like half that," he shrugs. 

"And thats through areas you cleared out," Jess muses. "Then that means the whole route, if everything is pristine, will take like three hours. But it won't be pristine."

"There are bound to be more collapsed floors and areas we'll have to work around," Waylon nods.

"Not mention roving patients that might chase us off-course, and territory that might be clearly staked out that we should avoid," Jess adds. "Which means, considering everything, it will probably take more like," she pauses to run calculations. "Three days? Maybe a week?"

"A week and I'm free," Eddie says softly. 

"Not quite, big guy. We're still gonna be on the run," she points out. 

"Free of the asylum," Eddie amends. 

"Not free of Murkoff."

"Jess," Waylon says, looking at Eddie's expression. "Let him have a moment."

Jess closes her mouth and lets the man have three seconds of quiet.

"Ok, time's up," Jess decides.

Eddie doesn't argue.

"Wait, why'd you cut through big cell blocks, Eddie mentioned that most lucid patients would be there," Waylon says, gesturing to where Jess had drawn the route.

"Waylon, this is tentative, anyway. I drew the quickest route," she shrugs. "Besides, because they're lucid, they'll be docile," she adds.

"They would have had to learn to live around other patients," Eddie adds.

"Exactly," Jess says, clipping the red pen to her sleeve, next to the needle. Eddie spies the glint of it, taking one of his own needles out of his white sleeve and offering it to Waylon.

"Thank you, but I can't sew," Waylon says. Eddie pivots and offers it to Jess. Jess sees that he has a few more in his sleeve, and takes the spare with a nod. "Can I at least have a weapon," Waylon asks the pair.

Jess and Eddie seem to pass something between their eyes. "Waylon," Jess starts. "There's a rule you should know before you ever even think of picking up a weapon."

"Don't have one unless you're alright with it being used against you," Eddie says.

Jess gestures at Eddie and nods. 

"Oh," Waylon says in a small voice. "No weapon then."

Jess and Eddie chuckle at him, and Jess folds up the map and puts it in her jumpsuit.

"Should we rest in the other room," Waylon asks. "There are beds."

"No," Jess shakes her head.

"Too risky," Eddie agrees.

"There might be patients looking to press into Eddie's territory, stalking the edges," Jess says.

"Ok, you weird twins," Waylon says without thinking. He wants to put his knuckle in his mouth. It's normal to banter with Jess like that, but Eddie is unknown. Not to mention mentally unstable, and Waylon doesn't know how he'll take criticism, even joking. Thankfully, Eddie has either ignored him or simply doesn't care, and he sighs quietly. As they head out, Waylon berates himself while also musing over his word choice. Knowing what he does about Jess, filling in the gaps, and what he has observed and remembers from Eddie and news about him years ago, when Waylon was younger and Eddie his early twenties, Waylon can safely assume that they both were abused by their fathers. And from how Eddie acts in his mania, Waylon guesses that he also didn't have a very active mother figure. In another life, maybe they could have been siblings.

"Waylon," Eddie's voice brings him out of his thoughts to bright blue eyes in a sea of red looking at him. He shivers despite himself. 

"Huh, what," Waylon says to cover up his slight wave of unease.

"Jess asked you a question."

"Oh, sorry," Waylon turns to Jess, who's walking beside him with a small smirk on her face. 

"I asked if you needed anything. Food, water, bathroom," she asks again.

"No. I think I'm too on edge for that," Waylon admits.

"Adrenaline's a hell of a drug," Jess agrees.

"It'll wear off soon," Eddie warns. "And it will wipe you out when it goes."

 

* * *

 

 

They reach the inner part of Eddie's territory easily enough, and Eddie leads them confidently. He grabs the keys off the altar and extends them to Waylon, who takes them gratefully. 

Waylon yawns, politely covering his mouth. "Eddie was right," he says tiredly, swaying slightly on his feet. He feels like a rag wrung of its water. He thinks if he sees even the semblance of a bed, he'd collapse face-first onto it and sleep for the three days that it'll take them to escape. 

"We should rest," Eddie says, and Waylon stiffens, waking up again with a surge of fear.

"If your intention was to scare the shit out of him by suggesting he sleep in the same area that you cut off like a hundred men's cocks, then you succeeded," Jess drawls from her slouched position against the grimy wall. 

"Not there," Eddie says, exasperated. "The Groom made himself a bridal bed."

Waylon swallows.

"Use words better, Eddie," Jess snickers.

Eddie makes a frustrated noise. "Just-" He takes a deep breath. "I woke up dragging a mattress one day. I finished what the Groom started, thinking I could use it for some sleep. He had made himself a bedroom. I'll show you."

"Don't you want to say goodbye to your bride," Jess points her chin in the direction of the mannequin. 

"Why? He's coming with me," Eddie retorts, thumbing over his shoulder at Waylon, who makes an indignant squawking noise, making both the others laugh at his expense. Waylon doesn't know whether to be grateful or fearful that they're getting along. 

Eddie leads them back through familiar hallways, and Waylon is thankful that they don't see the gymnasium and its hanging bodies again. Jezebel doesn't know which person Eddie granted the courtesy for, maybe even himself. Eddie holds his hand out back behind him when they reach the far end of his 'operating' room, which seems to be unavoidable. Waylon hands him the keys, and the man unlocks a door, ushers them inside, locks it behind them, and opens another door down the little entrance hallway. Waylon and Jess walk into the room as Eddie closes and locks the door. Waylon is impressed what the man was able to do with the office. 

There's red fabric draped artfully over the windows, lowering the glare that must come through them during the day. He had also draped the walls, hiding the years of disuse and lack of upkeep. He had pressed two bedframes and mattresses together and made one big sheet to cover the mattresses, along with making poles of some sort from spare materials and covering them with the same red fabric, giving the illusion of a four-poster bed. He had even put the office drawers on either side of the bed to act as nightstands, along with using the desk as a bureau, which he showcases by pulling out a blanket he had stitched together.

"We'll be safe here," Eddie promises, laying the blanket at the foot of the bed. Waylon is eyeing the pillows with want. He sits on the edge of the bed, moaning softly at the relief. It's a really shitty mattress, but Waylon's body doesn't notice nor care. Waylon lays down, stretching out. 

"When was the last time you slept," Waylon asks Eddie, rolling his head on the pillow to look at the man. 

Eddie pauses to think. "I'm not sure."

"You should have the bed, then," Waylon says, making an attempt to sit up, ignoring his body's protests. Eddie puts out his hand, stilling the man. "It's your bed, Eddie."

"It's the Groom's bed," Eddie corrects. This time, Waylon does successfully sit up. Jess fluffs the pillows behind him, adjusting her own pillow so she can comfortably lay down. 

"You're not different people, Eddie," Waylon says gently, but he still gets a harsh glare. "Just because you have these," he looks to Jess for help, but the girl just shrugs with her arms stretched out in front of her. She has no idea what to call Eddie's outbursts, either. "Episodes," Waylon says lamely. "Doesn't mean that the Groom is a different personality. He shares your name, he thinks he is you and you are him," he explains. "You can feel when he comes and when he goes, and he's not some sort of defense mechanism."

"I can feel when he comes," Eddie says. "I just wake up when he leaves." Eddie pauses. "And it's mania." At Waylon's blank look, he elaborates. "That's what the doctors called it. Manic episodes. Basically, one long one cultivated and fractured by the Engine."

Waylon winces in sympathy, and Eddie checks him over with his eyes, expecting to see a hidden injury the man hadn't mentioned.

"He feels bad for bringing it up, ding-dong," Jess explains from her position on the bed. "He's not hurt."

"Did you just call me a ding-dong," Eddie asks, offended.

"Yes. Would you rather numb-nuts? You didn't take too kindly to that when you were stuck in the bookshelf."

"I'd rather neither."

"Too bad."

Eddie is stopped from retorting by Waylon's exasperated groan. "Enough bickering."

"Not bickering," Eddie says.

"Arguing. People bicker when they're friends. This is not friendly or good-natured," Jess adds. 

"How long can I conceivably sleep for," Waylon asks, ignoring them. 

"Let's say we head out tomorrow," Jess says. "My internal clock got fucked up because of getting knocked out, but the sun should shine in these windows and get me straight."

"So we go when sun shines through these windows," Waylon asks, hopeful.

"Yes," Jess nods.

"Thank Christ," Waylon says, and promptly face plants into the pillow, hugging his arms around it. Jess flips the blanket over him, and he's asleep within moments.

"You should sleep, too," Eddie tells Jezebel, speaking quietly to not wake Waylon.

"You too," Jess fires back. "No need to stand guard, this is your territory. Deep in it," she points out. Eddie grabs a chair and sits in it, facing the door. It's a compromise, and he folds his arms and lowers his chin. "Night."

"Night," Eddie replies. They're both asleep soon enough.

 

Eddie wakes when Waylon starts moving around the next morning, seeing that the sun has just started to rise above the wing of the asylum to shine light into the room. Eddie sits up straighter, standing slowly to crack his back.

"Did you sleep in that chair," Waylon asks, softly. 

"Yes," Eddie says back, but Jess is already waking up. Both she and Eddie are light sleepers.

Eddie is frankly shocked he slept all the way through the night. Jess folds up the blanket, sitting cross-legged on the bed and taking out the map, spreading it out. Both men come closer to see, Waylon folding one knee under himself and Eddie standing next to the bed, his hand braced on the frame. 

"What keys do you have," Jess asks.

"I know I can open everything in here," Eddie circles the inner part of his territory. "And here," he runs his finger along the outskirts, where he had locked the doors to keep out others. "Never got around to trying in the middle." 

"Could you have keys for other places in the asylum," Waylon asks.

Eddie examines the multitude of keys on the ring. "I suppose so." He pulls off the ones he knows go to his territory, leaving them in a pile on the bed. Less ones to try when they're opening an unfamiliar door. "I do have this key," Eddie says, holding the thing up and laying it on the map at the door marked 'Male Ward.' "If we cut up this way, we bypass this whole area," Eddie waves his hand. "And can head this way," he says, trailing his finger with Jess tracing her pen after it, stopping when it joins with the red line she drew earlier. 

"We should stick around here for a bit," Jess says, sitting back.

"Why," Eddie asks.

"Waylon is carrying sensitive documents stuffed down his jumpsuit," Jess points out. "Do you have the fabric to make a passable backpack?"

"A temporary one," Eddie shrugs. "Nothing I have will last more than a month or two of heavy use."

"That's fine," Waylon nods, seeing the positives of having a backpack. Maybe two, one for him and one for Jess. Eddie would probably prefer to be unencumbered. "You should have one, too, Jess. Split any food we find between us," he says. "We should take care of these documents. They add more names and information to the Murkoff Hell. More people that knew, or should have known, what went on here. How long will it take, Eddie?"

"A day, not more than two."

"Alright," Waylon nods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, yes, I know, I'm a nerd. But the reason this chapter is called 'Salivation' is that is actually the first part of digestion. And yeah, technically that happens before you swallow, which is 'down the gullet' but that seemed appropriate for the first chapter. 
> 
> But hopefully you guys liked it! Thanks to everyone who left kudos and bookmarked. I honestly never thought this story would blow up the way it has and I couldn't be happier.
> 
> And sorry for the long time between updates, I honestly started this over a month ago but didn't realize it was that long, so my draft on here deleted itself. But I re-wrote it, no problem. Hopefully the action will pick up a bit!


	4. Deeper We Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our heroes leave the safety of Eddie's rooms at last. What will they find beyond its doors?

Jess helps Eddie look around for sturdy fabric for the backpacks, splitting up to cover more ground in the large space. They both return with a bolt of the same material; a rough, thick material that stood up when they tried to rip it. It's most likely some kind of nylon blend- it doesn't specify. It's a soft muted brown, which will do wonders for stealth. Considering their luck, Jezebel half expected to find the only suitable fabric to be a bright neon yellow that had somehow survived the filth of the asylum.

"Where's the kitchen," Jess asks Eddie as the man sits at a sewing machine with his bolt. He opens a hidden compartment and pulls out a clean-looking pair of scissors. 

"Half a day's walk away," Eddie warns, looking up at her. Jess shrugs.

"We need food."

Eddie nods. He provides her with directions, just outside of his territory, and Jess takes her axe with her on her way out. 

Waylon hovers, unsure, at the door of the bedroom, looking in. Eddie glances up before he continues getting himself situated. "Is there something you need," the man rumbles to the computer tech.

"No," Waylon admits slowly, coming in and perching on a table just within arm's reach of the man. 

Eddie's mouth turns up at a corner. "Bored, then."

"A bit," Waylon smiles a little.

Eddie measures and cuts the fabric, looking up at Waylon and twirling a thick finger in the air. Waylon gets up and obeys, turning around and allowing Eddie to measure the cut piece against his back. He had eyeballed the measurements, but he picks up a pen and adjusts them against his model. Waylon watches, fascinated, as Eddie sets down the fabric and starts to sew the bottom part of the bag- two layers, for safety- onto the appropriate edge. The men quietly co-exist silently, Eddie only making small hums of disapproval when the old machine jams or snags on the fabric. 

Eddie builds the pack quickly enough, re-measuring it against Waylon's back. The strap is a bit harder and takes more time; he has to ensure it won't tear or snap. He builds a sling so that it sits diagonally across Waylon's chest, from his right shoulder to his left hip. He hands it to Waylon to try on. "Go on. Give it a test," Eddie prompts, and Waylon goes to the other end of the room, feeling a little foolish as he runs, hops, crawls under tables, and even rolls once. The pack stays securely on him through it all. 

Eddie builds a slightly bigger pack for Jess, setting it aside for her return. The day winds down without further action, the majority having been spent making the two packs. 

The men go back into the bedroom to retire, and Eddie reaches for the chair he'd slept in the night before. 

"Eddie," Waylon says, and pauses when the man turns to look at him. "Jess won't be back anytime soon," he starts, glancing up at Eddie. The man nods once, confirming it. "The bed's more than big enough."

Eddie stares at the slim man until the words sink in. He rubs the back of his neck, unsure. "The chair's fine."

"You are not sleeping in a chair when there's an entire mattress free," Waylon folds his arms, raising his chin defiantly. After a brief staring match, Eddie relents, claiming Jess' spot from the night before; the side closer to the door. Waylon is quietly pleased with himself as he puts his back to Eddie, getting comfortable. "Good night, Eddie."

"Good night," Eddie echoes, the words strange on his tongue after so many years. He marvels at how Waylon is so eager to put his back to a known serial killer. Eddie sleeps flat on his back, unmoving. But it takes some time after Waylon's deep breaths fill the room before Eddie finds sleep.

 

The next morning, Eddie unlocks the door with Waylon trailing after him. They find Jess curled up on a table, sleeping. Waylon smothers a tiny laugh, but she wakes up anyway. She slowly uncurls, revealing a good amount of canned food. She plucks out a can opener and pops three cans of what looks like green beans, though the label has long since peeled away. 

"Are we heading out today," Waylon asks, looking at his companions. They share a look between them.

"No reason to stay," Eddie says, popping a bean in his mouth and chewing slowly. Jess nods. 

"We'll pack and then go," the young woman agrees.

Waylon nods, looking down into the half of a can remaining in his hand. He's never eaten these cold before, but his aching, empty stomach couldn't care less. He wants nothing more than to devour it all, but he takes care to eat as slowly as Eddie and Jess. He knows that too much food too quickly will do nothing but make his body reject the much-needed nutrition. 

When the cans are empty, Waylon and Jess split the rest of the unopened cans between them, and Jess takes the time to sew a quick pocket for the can opener on the inside of hers while Waylon gently secures the all-important documents. Her pack fits her well, and she nods to Eddie. Eddie locks the bedroom, kicking the key under the door. 

 

* * *

 

Waylon is the first to show concern when he starts to realize that a suspicious number of hallways are impassable. 

"There is no way this is natural," the man protests as they come across yet another wall of debris. "Someone piled this up."

"For what reason," Eddie asks, blue eyes watching Jess scale it, hands in his pockets. Waylon isn't yet desensitized to the redness of the man's eyes nor the sores on the side of his face. 

"To make us go a certain way," Jess replies before Waylon gets a chance to, hopping down gracefully and landing on her toes. She shoots a look at Eddie, who merely raises an eyebrow. 

"Well, then. What do you propose we do about it," Eddie asks. 

Jess shrugs. "Nothing we really  _can_ do. Just keep on moving, and hope we run into whoever's doing this later rather than sooner, and/or that they're distracted," she offers.

Eddie hums and removes his right hand from his pocket, turning smoothly to face Waylon. 

"Let's keep going then."

 

Waylon is used to walking between Jess and Eddie; Eddie in front, Jess behind. The sight of Eddie's shoulders is a familiar, and somewhat comforting, sight. But seeing those muscles tense is something he knows to watch for, and he stops behind Eddie. He looks back to Jess, and the two lean out to either side of the man. Waylon sees what had stopped Eddie- a pile of body parts, or at least what used to be. Waylon dry heaves. 

"Let's hope we don't end up in a pile like that," Jess remarks as Waylon dutifully films it. "Keep on trucking."

 

The hallways become more and more horror movie worthy as they continue. Waylon clutches his camcorder desperately, filming drag marks in blood on the floor, piles of various body parts and organs (none as decomposed as the first that they encountered) and bloody handprints on the corners of walls, most near the baseboards. But what the camera doesn't capture is the ever-worsening stench of blood and death permeating the place. Waylon feels like a lamb being lead through the twisting hallways of a slaughterhouse. He has to take shallow pants to keep his breakfast firmly inside of him, while Jess and Eddie seem unaffected. 

Jess' hand shoots out from around Waylon and touches the back of Eddie's arm, bringing them all to a stop. Waylon takes half a step closer to Eddie and waits. And listens. He hears what Jess must have- footsteps, getting closer. Eddie shifts and squares his shoulders, and Jess steps forward, together herding Waylon closer to the wall. Jess and Eddie leave only a small gap between their arms, forming a wall between Waylon and the danger. 

A patient rounds the corner, and he has another arm, sewn carefully under his left. The dead arm that isn't his own hangs limply, obviously not able to be used. He stops and considers the strange trio. He scratches his chin with his right hand, lifts his chin, and continues walking, ignoring them. Eddie and Jess watch him carefully, Jess shifting to block Waylon, even as the man films the strange patient. 

"What...the fuck...was that," Waylon asks, voice trembling out of him when the footsteps fade. 

"We just found out why there's so many body parts around," Eddie explains calmly, seeming almost intrigued in a vague way.

"I'm going to puke."

"No you aren't," Jess says, though she does rub Waylon's upper arm soothingly. And he doesn't, luckily enough. When he calms down a little, Eddie continues forward.

 

The piles of body parts start looking less and less like haphazard dumping and more like whoever put them there was trying to make something. Whether artistic or functional, Waylon doesn't want to guess, but he makes a mental note all the same. At their next pause, he hastily scribbles his notes down and stows them away. The parts start being sewn together, first messily and then more cleanly, more resembling the patchwork done on the living patient. As they spiral deeper into the center of the mysterious territory, the pieces become more elaborate. They take form into bodies stitched entirely out of different people, some with extra limbs. They also come across a body that is one person, with the exception of another head sewn on the side of the original, both sets of eyes open and vacant. Long dead, but remarkably well-preserved. 

As they continue, they come across more and more patients with extra limbs. None of the men are lucid enough to be dangerous, or even notice them.

"It's like he's Dr. Frankenstein," Waylon whispers.

"Creepy," Jess remarks, unnecessarily. 

Eddie puts out his arm, stopping them. 

"You're not some of mine," a curious voice says, and Jess steps out to the side, into the middle of the hallway, tightening her grip on her axe. There's a man wearing doctor's scrubs, bloodied, along with a mask that obscures half of his face, though Jess can see that the man is bleeding through it from cuts across his face. He had stitched them himself, messily. He cocks his head curiously at them, and Waylon shivers. Something about his voice... "Who are you," the 'doctor' asks.

"Passing through," Eddie replies, calmly enough. "We don't want trouble."

"And you'll find none here," the man says patiently. "All I do here is unlock what these poor souls are meant to be. Call me the Re-articulator."

"Then if you'll kindly step aside," Jess tries. Eddie shoots a warning glance at her.

"Oh! Different parts," the re-articulator says hungrily, stepping forward. He stills when Jess smoothly raises her axe. "Oh, none of that," he whines, his high voice going even higher. "No, no! You're all wrong, let me fix you and your friends."

"We're fine," Waylon says, getting a shot of the doctor on his camera. "Let us go."

"Go? But you're sick. I'm a doctor. Let me help." He whistles, high and sharp. Jess hears a scuffle behind her a split second before Waylon yelps. A big man with two extra arms sticking up from behind his shoulder blades, stiff, had grabbed him securely around his chest, glaring at Jess and her weapon. "No trouble," the re-articulator smiles softly.

Jess and Eddie watch helplessly as Waylon is carried easily to follow behind the re-articulator, the two following them. They are led to a room that has been transformed into a twisted version of an operating room. Waylon is strapped securely to a table.

"Axe," the doctor says to Jess, and she hands it over reluctantly. "Knife," he adds to Eddie, since the big man had gotten it into his hand when Waylon was grabbed. He scowls and slaps it into his hand. "Be nice," the man calls over his shoulder as he and his guard leave, the door locking behind them.

Jess and Eddie rush to Waylon, and they work him free. Jess brushes her hands over him, fussing and soothing as the man swings both legs over the edge of the table, his eyes avoiding the body parts reeking of chemicals sitting on the other tables. 

Jess leaves Waylon reluctantly, Eddie stepping closer to him. Jess snaps up a bloody cloth, wrapping her knuckles in it and punching through the glass front of a medical cabinet, pulling out large glass shards and getting to the chemicals inside. She fills a beaker with a chemical with an unnatural green-yellow tint, coming back with her free hand over her nose and mouth. Eddie and Waylon soon follow her lead as the scent wafts to them. 

"The plan is I splash this in his face when he comes back," Jess informs them.

"I'll take it from there," Eddie nods.

"What if his muscle is there, too," Waylon asks.

"I'll splash him instead. Without him we can take out the re-articulator without any fuss."

Jess hides in an empty locker near the door. She has to stand sideways in it to fit, as well as leave the door cracked, but she's hidden.

They hear the unmistakeable sound of a key being fitted into a lock, and Jess acts quickly when the doctor crosses the slats in front of the locker, alone and unaware of the fate that lay beyond it.

Jess leaps out, startling him. He only has enough to cry out 'no!' when the chemical reaches his face, burning his eyes and dripping down into his mouth and thoroughly soaking his wounds. He clutches his face, screaming muffled. Eddie crosses the room in a handful of strides and slams the man's head against the closed door a few times, leaving a bloody spot and a crumpled mass of a human. Jess puts the empty beaker down and washes her hands.

"See if he has your blade on him," Jess calls, and Eddie searches the body.

"No," Eddie replies as Jess is shaking her hands of water, toeing the body off to the side of the door.

"Key?"

Eddie lifts the small thing. Jess collects a slightly shocked Waylon and ushers him through the door, letting Eddie lock it behind them. They're in luck- not too far down the hallway, they find Jess' axe leaning up against a desk, and Eddie's knife in a drawer. 

"Let's go," Eddie says, leading the way once more, leaving Waylon wondering just what he feels, if anything, when he takes someone's life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been a while, and you don't know how tempting it was to cut off this chapter on a cliffhanger. But I decided not to, because the chapter would have too short. Hope you enjoyed my first little villain!
> 
> Oh, and I decided to do a one-off, one-on method of naming chapters by the digestive system. Makes it easier on myself.


	5. Mastication

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An old friend makes an appearance, and Eddie shows that he does have feelings after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this one was killer to write, so sorry for the long gap! I was kind of making it up as I go along, and I was thinking a couple of chapters in between villains is just good pacing. So I hope you enjoy!

Jess doles out food, putting her back against the wall while sitting on the bed to eat. Waylon settles next to her, sitting up, while Eddie occupies another bed. 

"Eddie," Waylon says hesitantly, stirring the contents of his can with his finger. The man in question looks up, acknowledging his name with a questioning lifting of an eyebrow. "Do you...feel anything when you kill someone," he asks, almost chewing his words as they leave his mouth.

"Waylon," Jess says, rolling her head to look at him, exasperated. 

"Which murders are we specifically talking about," Eddie questions, furrowing his eyebrows. "The ones I committed to be put in an asylum in the first place or the ones I committed once at Mount Massive?"

"Both, I suppose."

"If you're asking if I regret the murders I committed while not in my right mind, then yes. I do. They were young, innocent women I had no right to take the lives of but did without even a second thought. I was crazy. However, the ones I committed once here are a different matter. They were justified. Horrid doctors and almost-monsters that were better off dead than alive where they could harm more people." Eddie watches Waylon's reaction to his answer. 

Waylon purses his lips slightly and casts his eyes away, nodding slowly after a moment. "I guess I'll have to be okay with that," Waylon says at last.

"Good. Now can we please eat dinner and get to sleep so we can move at first light," Jess asks.

And so they do. They stack the cans on the floor when they're done, and then bed down for the night. Jess and Waylon share the bed while Eddie takes the closest bed to the door, where he'll be hidden when the door opens and will be able to surprise anyone that comes in.

 

Days pass uneventfully, though Waylon is starting to wish for shoes. His feet had been toughened by the asylum and running, but they still twinge and bother him at times.

Eddie stiffens, stopping in his tracks so suddenly Waylon rocks forward with the force of his own halt. 

"What's wrong," Jezebel asks.

"He's coming," Eddie says gravely.

"Who," Waylon asks, concerned, though Jess has a sneaking suspicion.

"The Groom," Jess and Eddie say together.

Jess wrenches open the nearest door and the men get in quickly, Jess following and twisting the lock behind them. 

Eddie paces once in the room, Waylon wringing his hands in concern and watching him. 

It's curious to see the transformation. Eddie freezes, rubs his mouth, and then it's like his whole body relaxes while also straightening at the same time. Eddie looks around slowly, assessing his surroundings and eyes settling on his companions only when a thorough sweep is performed.

"Ah. Hello," Eddie greets, smiling softly. "I seem to have wandered a ways from home and gotten myself a little lost," he half-laughs at himself. "Who are you?" He examines Waylon more closely and his whole face lights up. "Darling! How silly of me not to have recognized you," he smiles warmly at him. 

"Eddie," Jess starts, gaining his attention. "Waylon and I are friends of yours."

"Are you?"

"Yes," Waylon nods slowly.

"We're leaving the asylum," Jess tells him.

"Why would I ever want to leave this neighborhood? It's perfect for raising children."

Jess sucks at her teeth, realizing that the Groom must only hear what fits his delusion.

"Well, the neighborhood is changing," Waylon steps in. "We're moving to a nicer one."

"With better schools," Jess adds, knowing that will resonate with the children-obsessed Groom.

"School  _is_ important," Eddie considers thoughtfully. "But just who are you again?"

"I'm uh," Jess thinks. "Waylon's brother," she tries. She knows that in this state, Eddie perceives her as a man, but maybe if she's a man that isn't a possible lover...

"Oh! Of course. We will be brothers soon, as well," Eddie nods, smiling. Jess notes dryly that the Groom smiles so much that Eddie's cheeks must be sore when he changes back.

"That's right. After the wedding," Jess nods, ignoring Waylon's squeak of distress next to her. 

"Well, there's no time like the present. Onwards," Eddie questions.

"I just have to check the map," Jess assures, extricating the thing carefully from her pack. She spreads it on a nearby bed, and the trio bends over it, Eddie fairly close to Waylon- closer than normal, anyway. 

She marks where they are with a finger- they had covered a pretty good distance and are right on par with where she had thought they'd be at the beginning. They had started gaining speed and making up for lost time once out of the Re-articulator's winding trap. 

Eddie cocks his head. "How long until we reach the new neighborhood?"

"A few more days," Jess tells him, not bothering to look up. She takes note of the next route they should take, folding up the map once more and putting it back in its rightful place. 

They set out once more, Jess carefully checking to ensure the coast is clear before leaving. 

Eddie sniffs disdainfully. "What a horrid neighborhood," he remarks, looking at the grime on the walls.

"There are a few between the old neighborhood and the new one," Waylon tells him. 

"Anything for our children," Eddie says, looking adoringly at Waylon. Waylon shivers slightly. "Oh, are you cold, Darling," he asks, taking off his vest.

"No, Eddie, I'm fine," Waylon protests weakly. 

"Nonsense, Darling, you're shaking," Eddie says, spreading the vest expectantly. Waylon swallows and steels himself, putting his arms through the holes. The last thing he wants is to anger the Groom, who is exponentially more dangerous and volatile than Eddie. "There, isn't that better," Eddie asks.

"Much," Waylon replies, voice tight. "Thank you."

Eddie smiles grandly, clearly pleased.

"You look like the cat that caught the canary," Jess remarks dryly, looking back at the pair. She had taken the lead after realizing that Eddie now prefers to walk next to Waylon. At least he's walking on the outside of the hallway, keeping Waylon half protected by the wall. 

"Why wouldn't I," Eddie asks happily. "I have my beloved at my side and nothing ahead of us but time and a beautiful wedding to look forward to. By the way, Darling, when do you want to get married," Eddie directs to Waylon. 

"Uh, maybe in the new neighborhood, Eddie," Waylon replies nervously. "I hear there's a lovely little church there."

"Beautiful," Jess assures Eddie. They step through a decontamination unit, the gas spewing from the top and sides making Eddie tense slightly. 

"What's wrong," Waylon asks, clearly concerned.

"Nothing, Darling. Simply bad memories," Eddie soothes him, touching Waylon's arm softly. "I'm touched you asked, though."

Waylon remembers guiltily that although the decontamination units mean nothing but good things to him, to Eddie they must mean that he will be subjected to a new horror. 

They walk in blessed silence for a while, the Groom seeming content.

 

It must be hours later, when the halls have started to darken, that Eddie shakes his head and looks at Waylon.

"Why are you wearing my vest," Eddie asks, voice odd. 

"Eddie," Waylon says, relieved that he's returned to his lucid state. "Oh, um, the Groom decided I was cold," Waylon replies, shrugging the garment off and handing it to Eddie. Eddie looks over the thing before unceremoniously dropping it at his feet.

"Should we stop for the night," Waylon asks, watching as Eddie walks forward to take the lead position from Jess. Jess easily drops back to stand behind Waylon.

"It's still light enough to see," Jess replies. They had reached a part of the asylum where the electricity is out, meaning that it will be impossible to walk any further once night falls.

"Yes, let's continue," Eddie agrees. 

Waylon shivers slightly as they walk forward, realizing with slight horror that he had grown used to the weight of Eddie's vest on his shoulders, and the small warmth it provided. He debates going back for it, even looking behind himself to see it piled forlornly on the floor. 

"What's wrong," Jess asks, looking back as well. She sees no threat, and looks back at Waylon. 

"Nothing, just," Waylon covers, not willing to reveal his thoughts. "I thought I heard something, is all. This place makes me paranoid." A half-truth.

"The paranoid survive," Jess shrugs, the motion making the setting sun play along the blade of her axe. "Oh wait," she says, trotting back and picking up the very garment that has Waylon so conflicted. "This will be useful, I should clean my axe," she explains to Eddie's confused face. The man nods. 

 

They walk for a little while longer, until Waylon's stomach voices its displeasure at only consuming one measly meal today.

"Dinner," Jess questions with a smirk. Waylon feels blood rush to his face even as he nods. Eddie laughs slightly, a rumbling sound that Waylon can feel in his toes. 

Eddie opens a door and waits while the other two go in before him. Eddie blocks the door with a desk once inside. It won't do much, but it will give them precious seconds to wake up and react to the intruder. 

Jess distributes the food, corn this time, and they settle on beds to eat. 

"How do you feel, Eddie," Waylon asks.

"You mean after the Groom," Eddie clarifies, and Waylon nods. "A slight headache, nothing major. It just feels like bees are buzzing in my head."

Waylon makes a sympathetic face, while Jess is busily marking on the map. 

"How far did we go," Eddie asks, leaning forward slightly.

"Today," Jess asks, and Eddie nods. "Maybe," Jess leans her head left and right, considering. "A quarter of a mile? A third if you count all the detours, maybe."

"That's pretty good," Eddie remarks, while Waylon's jaw drops.

"A quarter of a mile," Waylon exclaims. "That's excellent! No wonder my feet hurt."

"We made up some distance after leaving Dr. Frankenstein's territory," Jess remarks.

Waylon shivers slightly. "Ugh, don't remind me," he shakes his head.

"Just eat up," Jess advises, nudging him with her elbow. 

"Corn is nutritionally useless, anyway," Waylon mutters to himself.

"I know, it comes out whole in your shit," Jess replies.

Eddie glares at her. "Don't be crass. It's unbecoming."

"Who are you, my mother," Jess raises an eyebrow.

"Didn't your," Waylon starts before holding his tongue. He really shouldn't bring up her mother's death. 

"Yes, she did," Jess nods, unfazed for the most part. "It's still an expression."

They eat silently after that, stacking the cans on the floor once finished. Jess pries off a lid and sits on a bed she doesn't plan on sleeping on, running the lid slowly along the axe, flaking off old blood and hopefully sharpening the blade.

"I hate that noise," Waylon complains, hunching his shoulders near his ears. 

"Sorry," Jess says, relocating to the other end of the room. 

"Are we going to share," Waylon asks her.

"If you want," Jess replies easily.

"I think I'll be ok." He can still hear the dull sound of metal against metal, but it's almost soothing without it being right next to him. 

Waylon lies down, getting as comfortable as he can. He's slept without pillows for so long in the asylum that it doesn't take long for him to drop off. Eddie straightens the stack of cans, taking a lid for himself and stretching out his legs on a bed near Jess, taking a page out of her book and running the edge of the can along his own knife, checking Waylon sporadically to ensure he doesn't wake up. 

Before too long, they hear Waylon shudder, and Eddie looks up to see Waylon shivering on the bed. Eddie stands, putting his makeshift whetstone to the side and folding his knife away, putting it in his pocket. He grabs his vest as he passes and spreads it over the cold man. Waylon relaxes, murmuring slightly in his sleep. Across the room, Jess catches Eddie's eye, though the man ignores her, and the slight feeling of guilt, like he had been caught doing something he shouldn't have been doing. Waylon was cold, he had the closest thing to a blanket. So what? 

Eddie lies on the bed next to Waylon and puts his arm beneath his head, closing his eyes and falling asleep to the soft sounds of Jess sharpening her axe. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I did the math, and I have an average of nearly 4,000 words per chapter, which is WAY longer than I thought, though there was quite a bit of exposition. This one is considerably shorter.


	6. Talking it out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They progress through the asylum, and get more comfortable with each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry guys, this is really no more than just a filler chapter.

Waylon wakes up first the next morning, which is rare. Normally one of the others are awake at a small sound he makes before he's fully awake, or already going through the motions of getting ready for the day. But Waylon sits up slowly, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, and as he does, he feels fabric slide down his body. He looks at what had gotten caught on his hip and recognizes Eddie's vest. He wonders distantly who had covered him; probably Jess. But he vaguely remembers almost waking up from the chill and then not being cold. He had murmured his thanks before falling back asleep. 

Waylon looks over at Eddie, who is sleeping with one arm under his head, bent at the elbow with his wrist supporting the back of his head. How the big man can sleep like that he'll never know. But Eddie looks relaxed at last in sleep, something he never sees. But after a moment, he notices he's staring, and shuffles on the bed purposefully. Jess lifts her head and Eddie cracks an eye.

"Should we have breakfast or just lunch," Jess asks, sitting up and putting her feet on the floor.

"Lunch," Eddie votes, swinging his own legs out of bed.

"Lunch," Waylon echoes, putting the vest aside. When he closes his eyes to stretch, he misses the way Eddie looks at the garment almost guiltily. 

Jess gathers her things and sets them on Waylon's bed, smoothing out the map with practiced motions. It's old hat by now- gather their things, plan the route, and leave. Waylon shrugs on his pack, eyes catching on Eddie's vest.

"Should we keep this," Waylon asks, picking it up. Jess looks up and examines it.

"Why," Jess asks curiously.

"It could be useful. It might, uh, get cold," Waylon offers, voice raising in question.

"Sure, whatever," Jess says, returning her attention to the map. It doesn't matter to her one way or the other.

Eddie watches Waylon's back, his face a careful mask of indifference. Waylon nods, carefully folding the vest and putting it into his pack for safekeeping.

 

 A day passes, with nothing of note happening. Waylon has almost nothing to film, which he's grateful for because not only does it mean that there's nothing different happening, but batteries are becoming scarce, even with Jess surrendering all the batteries she finds to Waylon.

They inch ever closer to the underground facility, and Waylon allows himself to hope.

 

"What do we even do once we're out of here," Waylon asks over dinner that night. 

"We have to get out first," Eddie points out.

"Party pooper," Waylon throws at him. "But seriously," he asks, looking between his companions.

"Well, first we need transportation. Not exactly like we can hitchhike when we look like we just escaped from prison," Jess gestures at her jumpsuit.

"And you can't kill anyone," Waylon says when Eddie opens his mouth. He closes it with a scowl.

"It's scary how you can do that," Jess remarks as she pops a green bean in her mouth. Waylon is really starting to get sick of them, but they seem to be plentiful in their food supply.

The other two have nothing to say to that.

"So, transportation," Eddie none-too-subtly veers the conversation back. "Shelter next."

"I'm sure there's a motel in town," Jess says.

"Like you said, we can't just walk in," Waylon replies.

"Motel locks are easy to pick," Jess rolls her eyes. "Eddie can shimmy it with just his knife."

"I don't want to know why you know that," Waylon says.

"Barn sex got boring," Jess informs him anyway.

Eddie coughs into his can, and Jess laughs at Waylon's blush.

"We'll take it from there," Jess says.

 

They reach the first cell block, and Waylon wisely sticks close to Eddie. The patients scatter when they see Eddie. A few of the patients used to be closer to Eddie's territory, and word of the Groom had spread. They pass through, and the patients breathe a collective sigh of relief when they're gone.

"What was all that about," Waylon voices.

"Eddie's a scary motherfucker."

"Yes," Eddie replies simply, for once not remarking on Jess' mastery of the English language.

 

"Hey, wait up," Jess says, after they've taken a break and she's examining the map.

"What," Eddie asks, bored.

"There are showers up ahead."

"Seriously," Waylon asks.

"Seriously," Jess nods.

"We're taking showers."

"Is that really necessary," Eddie asks.

"Yes," Waylon and Jess say.

"And we can kind of wash our clothes," Jess points out.

 

They walk to the showers, and Jess salutes and moves to the other end. "You boys have fun," she shoots over her shoulder. Eddie swallows his pride enough to actually flip her off. "I love that I'm such a bad influence on you."

Waylon walks the showers, making sure to stay out of sight of Jess, and picks a shower that's a fair bit away from any that contain a dead body. Eddie seems to have the same preference and takes one a few down from Waylon. Waylon works his way out of his jumpsuit, trying valiantly not to blush. He hasn't showered this close to another man in- well, he's never showered this close to another man. He hadn't ever been fond of gyms. But Waylon steels himself. He can do this.

Eddie, however, seems to have no qualms. He strips in the small hallway between the rows of showers and gets into his own little stall. Waylon turns on his own shower, shivering when the cold water hits his skin. It warms soon enough. Which reminds him. 

"Hey, when do you think Murkoff will cut the power," Waylon asks, firmly not looking at Eddie. 

"Probably not until after they send the tactical team in to clean up their mess," Eddie replies.

Waylon picks up a bar of soap and scrubs his hands along it, cleaning it and watching the suds and blood- not all of it his own- wash down the drain.

Waylon scrubs his body, finally pushing off scabs and seeing pink new skin hiding behind them. He revels in being clean again and picks up his jumpsuit, scrubbing at the worst areas first.

He hears a wet slap behind him and turns, watching Eddie scrub at his own dress shirt while it's draped over the low wall next to the man. Waylon hardly has the time to look before Eddie is glancing up. Waylon looks away, flushing. He hopes that Eddie thinks it's from the steaming shower. 

Beside him, out of his line of sight, Eddie glances his eyes over Waylon, at least the parts that he can see, before remembering himself and going back to his task. Waylon wrings out his jumpsuit and moves to Eddie's vest, letting his jumpsuit dry hanging over the low wall.

"You boys done yet," Jess asks, making both Waylon and Eddie jump. She moves Waylon's jumpsuit to a wall further from the spray of the shower.

"Jezebel," Eddie reprimands, covering himself with his hands.

"Relax, there's a wall," Jess says. "Besides, you haven't got anything I haven't seen before."

"How would you know," Eddie grumbles to himself, prying his hands away. He scrubs his pants viciously.

They both finish up, Eddie being the last to dress. They're slightly wet for the rest of the day, but Waylon thinks it a small price to pay for being clean.

 

"Well this is a predicament," Jess says when they go to sleep for the night. The only room they could find has one solitary mattress; all the other frames are devoid.

"I'll sleep on the floor," Eddie says.

"We just got clean," Jess points out.

Eddie has nothing to say to that.

"Eddie, which side do you want," Jess asks him.

"Door," Eddie replies after a long pause.

"Great. Way, you get middle."

"I don't know if that's," Waylon starts.

"You're not taking the end," Jess interrupts him. Her tone brooks no arguments.

Waylon slides into bed, and Jess and Eddie crowd around him, Eddie more hesitant than his counterpart.

"Scooch," Jess prods Waylon, intent on making just enough room for herself.

"I kind of can't," Waylon says, already shoulder-to-shoulder with Eddie. 

"I take up a bed by myself, this is ridiculous," Eddie says, half his frame hanging off the mattress. 

"Sleep on your side," Jess says logically, and Eddie turns to face the door. "There, see?"

The trio get comfortable and settle, Waylon going back-to-back with Eddie, feeling the man's warmth all along his back. 

They drop off, Eddie having to listen to two sets of lungs breathing deep for him to sleep.


	7. Chewed us up...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie and Jess work things out.

It's almost pleasant the next day after all the awkwardness of the day before. They're walking next to a bank of windows with bright sunshine shining through when Eddie stops. They all pause and listen carefully, and hear a frankly alarming number of footsteps ahead.

"Oh shit," Jess whispers, and they all turn around, hurrying away. Waylon tugs Jess to a vent, and both Jess and Eddie glare up at it like it had personally offended them. 

"It's safe," Waylon defends it. Jess reluctantly boosts him up so he can try and dislodge the vent cover. He runs his fingers over the screws, which are still intact, holding the cover down. Jess lets Waylon down gently and looks at Eddie.

"Give me your knife and a boost," Jess says.

Eddie folds his arms.

"Please," Jess adds in a huff. Eddie hands her the knife and sets his hands, and she puts her foot in the saddle they create and lets him lift her to perch comfortably on his shoulder. They find their balance together and Jess gets to work. She makes sure to catch them to not make any noise, until the very last screw. Whoever had done it had switched kinds, so this one was half the length, which surprises her. Eddie and Waylon both reach out to catch it, Eddie's hand encompassing Waylon's. Waylon nods, and Eddie takes his hand away. Eddie lowers Jess carefully. This time, Eddie is the one to give Waylon a boost, and once the slim man is up, he moves to boost Jess up again.

"No," Jess shakes her head, and gently moves Eddie to take up the stance herself.

"Why not," Eddie asks.

"As strong as I am, there's no way I can pull your big ass up with just my leg, even with you being careful. But I  _can_ get you up, and then you're plenty strong enough to pull me. So you first."

"Why the leg," Waylon whispers, turned around in the vent to watch the two.

"It'll be closer to the opening," Eddie explains, voice just as soft as Waylon's.

"It's an Army technique to get a lot of people over a high wall," Jess adds. The footsteps get closer. "Now get your ass up there," she hisses to Eddie. Eddie obliges, setting his massive hands on her shoulders and she presses him up, the big man barely fitting his wide shoulders into the opening. He stops most of the way in and feels Jess grab his calf, and he crawls forward, feeling Jess work her way in. She taps his thigh, signaling that she's up.

They travel through the vents to a quiet, empty room and hop down, Eddie having the most trouble due to both his size and the fact that he had never done it before. Waylon does his best to coach him, having seen Jess do it countless times in the beginning. 

"Right, put your hand up there, now take out your shoulder. No, the other one. Yes, that one. Brace your foot there, good. And just kind of slide out," Waylon directs. Eddie slips down the wall, rolling his shoulders.

"Now move," Jess orders. Eddie takes his time stretching before moving out of the way, letting Jess get herself down using an almost identical system as Eddie's.

"That was close," Waylon remarks, waiting with Jess while Eddie checks the hallway outside the door.

"Too close," Jess agrees.

 

They reach the next cellblock, and as nervous as Waylon is, all the patients are docile.

"Anything dangerous up ahead we should know about," Jess asks a man who's looking curiously at the new trio.

The man seems to ponder her question. "Nothing too bad. There's a cannibal clan a good deal forward, though."

"Cannibals," Waylon squeaks.

"I'm surprised there weren't any already," Jess shrugs. "Low food supply plus insane people plus no supervision equals cannibals."

"But we already ran into one," Waylon complains.

"Manera was an outlier. It makes sense that humans would hunt in packs."

"Why are you so calm about this?!"

"I'm from Texas, dude. We kind of take everything in stride," Jess points out.

That surprises a snort from Eddie. 

"Thank you," Jess directs to the man who had provided the information.

"Good luck," the man wishes.

The trio moves forward.

 

A few hours later, Eddie picks up his head in curiosity. "You guys keep going, I'll take care of that," Eddie says, hearing footsteps following them.

"No, Eddie, we should stick together," Waylon says.

"We really should, hoss," Jess reluctantly agrees. 

"While I'm touched at your concern," Eddie drawls sarcastically. "I should also check to make sure that they're not dangerous, whoever they are, and if they really are following us or it's just a coincidence."

"Meet up at the next cellblock," Jess proposes. They're coming pretty close together now.

"Sounds fine," Eddie nods. "Make sure he doesn't get killed," he directs to Jess.

"Aw, didn't know you cared," Jess teases good-naturedly. "Will do."

Jess presses Waylon forward, and he takes one last look at Eddie before he goes. 

 

At the cellblock, Jess finds an empty cell with a working sink and takes a few quick handfuls of water to drink and wash up. Shaking her hand dry, she looks to Waylon.

"Want some, Way," Jess asks.

"No," Waylon declines gently, watching the door.

"Suit yourself," Jess shrugs, spreading the map on the bed. "He won't be back yet," she offers without looking up.

"Just in case," Waylon says, leaning against a pillar where he can still see the doors.

"He can take of himself," Jess soothes him.

"Where are you two from," a patient with half his face disfigured asks.

"Engine treatment," Waylon provides. Every patient in earshot stiffens.

"How many," the man asks nervously.

"Barely one," Waylon assures him.

"See Hope while you were down there?"

"Hope," Jess asks. "Well, no, it was pretty hopeless at first."

"No, no. Billy Hope. I'm Dale Hernan, by the way," he introduces himself.

"Waylon Park."

"Jess Ellis."

"Who's Billy Hope," Waylon asks.

"He controls the Walrider," Dale explains.

"Walrider," Jess asks, standing and supporting her weight with her hands on the cell bars.

Dale looks at her, single remaining eyebrow raised. "You haven't heard of it? But you must have seen it down there. Or at least felt it. The static. It's near the Engine."

Jess remembers the black mass that had ripped the man next to Waylon apart, until there was nothing remotely human-shaped left. Maybe that same thing had attacked Waylon.

"Maybe that was the black skeletal thing that attacked us," Jess offers to Waylon.

"Yes, that would be it," Dale nods. "Quite violent. Billy can't quite get a handle on it, the state the poor man is in. On life support, you know," he informs them, shaking his head sadly.

"How do you know all this," Waylon asks.

"Doctors think we're too stupid to know what they're saying," Dale laughs.

"Yeah, that's what Eddie said," Jess shrugs.

"Eddie," Dale prompts.

"A friend of ours," Waylon says. "Eddie Gluskin."

"Oh, I've heard that name. Candidate for the Engine. I think he was put in a pod once, or almost. Two technicians saved him, odd as that may sound."

"Darling," Eddie roars from the hallway, and the patients scatter to cells and close the doors on them. Dale rushes into the cell that Jess is occupying. Jess folds up the map and replaces it in her backpack, having ascertained where they were. The signs in the cellblock had helped.

"You're up," she directs to Waylon.

Waylon steps out into the middle of the room, and Eddie sees him at last. 

"Why did you leave," Eddie asks, coming closer, and he sounds both heartbroken and furious. It's not a good combination.

"Eddie, you're the one who left," Jess says, leaving the cell and shutting the door behind herself, joining Waylon.

"I would never!" Eddie sounds affronted, now standing in front of the pair.

"You went to see if people were following us," Waylon says, placating.

"Damned hooligans," Eddie growls, looking away. "Excuse my language, Darling," he apologizes, looking back to Waylon. "And I never did catch your name," he directs to Jess.

"Jess."

"Well, then,  _Jess_ ," Eddie forces as much venom as he could into her name. "I'd advise you to stay out of our relationship."

"Eddie, stop," Waylon tells him, extending a hand to him, almost touching his chest.

"Why don't you make me," Jess challenges.

"Why do you have to freakin' antagonize him," Waylon asks, catching himself from cursing at the last minute. That would only rile up the Groom even more. 

"I should bash your skull in," Eddie threatens.

"I'd like to see you try." Jess lifts her chin. "If you want a good, old-fashioned tussle, I'm up for it."

Eddie eyes the axe in her hands. "Hardly seems fair."

"No blades," Jess says, handing the axe to Waylon. He holds it like a dead rat, away from his body, like it might suddenly come to life and bite him. 

Eddie fishes out his own knife and hands it to Waylon. 

"No broken bones," Jess says.

"Agreed."

"Are you two really going to do this," Waylon asks, nearly pleading.

"Relax, Way. It'll only clear the air. I've been in quite a few fights, we were fine after," Jess says. "Just stay out of the way, yeah? Otherwise you'd be like a possum caught between two tomcats."

"You know I never understand what you say when you use sayings."

"You'll get your ass kicked," Jess translates. 

"Language," Eddie warns, glancing at Waylon, moving so that they're more centered in the block. Jess points to the cell with Dale in it, gently propelling Waylon towards it. Waylon obliges reluctantly, opening the door and then closing it once he's inside. 

"Got the rules," Jess asks Eddie, joining him in the middle of the open space. 

"No blades, no broken bones," Eddie rolls his eyes. "Not exactly hard rules to follow."

"Good." Jess throws a punch at his jaw, knocking Eddie's head back.

"You bastard," Eddie growls, throwing a punch to Jess' ribs. Jess takes it with a grit of her teeth and twists away.

The two circle each other, waiting for an opening to land another blow. Eddie apparently sees one and goes for it, charging the woman. Jess sidesteps him and bashes him with her shoulder, using his momentum against him and knocking him off his feet. Eddie tackles her knees, surprising her and bringing her down, as well.

Waylon hisses when Eddie punches Jess in the face, watching blood pour down her face from her nose. But Jess gives as good as she gets, rolling Eddie and pinning him, punching him repeatedly in the ribs. Eddie throws her off, and they both get to their feet, Jess wiping her nose with her hand. Eddie is breathing heavy, and darts in to get Jess in the same spot in the ribs as he had before. Jess brings her elbow down on his back hard, and when he backs up, gives an almighty right hook to his jaw.

"The fuck was that for," Eddie roars, cradling his face.

"What do you call Waylon," Jess demands, voice echoing through the cellblock.

"By his name," Eddie says stubbornly.

"Oh, good," Jess drops her hands. "Welcome back."

"God, you have a hell of a right hook," Eddie says, working his jaw slowly. He looks around, spotting Waylon in a cell with an unfamiliar man, holding Jess' axe. "What are you doing with that," Eddie asks him.

"No blades, no broken bones," Waylon says, opening the door and stepping out. Dale still closes the door out of precaution.

"Were we having a fight," Eddie asks Jess, who's holding her side.

"Yeah. God, you have a jab," Jess coughs once, checking to make sure she has no broken ribs. It doesn't feel like it, though. "Not broken or fractured, thank God. Maybe bruised at worst."

Eddie takes stock of his injuries. Sore on his ribs, likewise at a spot on his back, near his shoulders but below the blades, and of course, he can feel his heartbeat in his jaw. He touches the spot tenderly and suddenly tastes copper. He walks into an unoccupied cell and rinses his mouth out in the sink, spitting some blood out. "Hell of a hook," he repeats.

 

"How long have we been travelling, shouldn't we have reached the labs by now," Waylon asks as they're settling in to bed.

"Well, we've been with Eddie for about ten days, longer than I thought with all the detours and doubling back," Jess says. "Maybe before we met up we were here for two, but it's hard to say because we were in the middle of the asylum with no windows and we only slept when we were tired," she continues.

"How much longer," Waylon asks.

"I don't know. We'll have to circle around the cannibal clan, I'm sure we'll be able to tell where their territory is, which will probably cut days off our time. And then there's basically a straight shot to the labs. But Way, we have to do this right. I don't care if we have to spend a month here if it means we get out alive."

"Our food won't last a month," Waylon bites out, and he's right. Their bags are worryingly light. 

"True," Jess nods. She spreads out the map on her lap. "Eddie, feel free to contribute to the conversation," she mocks the silent man. He glares at her but still leans forward to examine the map.

"Maybe a week, if everything goes according to plan," the big man rumbles. 

Waylon grumbles to himself, clearly unhappy.

"It could take less," Jess tells him.

"It'll probably take more," Waylon replies.

They finish their dinner and sleep for the night.


	8. In Trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They come across the cannibal clan.

It's more difficult than Jess had expected to gauge the size of the cannibals' territory- there are no markers, no messages written in blood, nothing. The only way they even know that they're in their territory is when they happen across a cell block that's utterly devoid of life. Waylon seems worried, but Jess and Eddie don't seem as concerned.

"Shouldn't there be at least a few people," Waylon asks, looking at the old blood dried on the floor in what used to be a pool, with drag marks spreading out from its center. 

"Not if they hunted them out or drove them away," Jess replies.

"We'll be safe here," Eddie nods. At Waylon's incredulous look, he elaborates with a shrug. "No food for them."

"That doesn't help," Waylon complains quietly, almost to himself.

 

They're walking along a nondescript hallway when a cell door slams shut, separating Eddie and Waylon from Jess. Jess looks at the floor on their side, seeing a thin trip wire that Eddie had unknowingly stepped over with his longer stride but Waylon had caught dead-on. 

"Damn," Jess says, discovering the door had locked behind the men. 

Waylon curls his fingers around the bars, looking at Jess forlornly.

"I'll circle around," Jess assures him. "Stick to Eddie like flies on road kill."

"That's descriptive," Waylon wrinkles his nose, but nods all the same.

 

Waylon gets more nervous when the blood seems to become fresher. 

Eddie does his best to avoid the hallways where it's the newest, but it seems to be absolutely _everywhere._

"Stay close," Eddie says quietly, and Waylon can tell that even he is growing wary. 

 

Waylon barely hears the footsteps before there are arms around his waist. 

"Eddie," he barely manages to call out before there's a hand clamped over his mouth. He bites down as hard as he can, which fills his mouth with blood and produces a scream from behind him. He sees a couple of men at Eddie's back as the man whips around to face the technician. "Behind you," he warns when his own attacker drops his hand. 

Eddie catches the arm of a cannibal as he swings a shiv at him, twisting it away from him and stabbing him with it. Eddie procures his own blade as another advances. He tries to fight them off, but there always seems to be two to take the place of every one he kills. Waylon is dragged away, backwards, while he watches Eddie spin and turn and fight. Waylon tries with all his might to free himself.

"Waylon," Eddie roars, and Waylon makes a muffled approximation of the other man's name- the man had put his hand over his mouth again. 

Once Waylon's out of sight, the cannibals around Eddie distract him for a few more moments, but soon scatter. Eddie doesn't even take the time to count the bodies around him before he hurries after Waylon. He comes across a crossroads soon enough, and growls when he sees no indication which way Waylon had been taken. "Fuck," the man snarls.

Eddie hears quiet footsteps behind him, and swings around, brandishing his knife. "Whoa," Jess placates, extending her hands to him like he's a skittish horse. The effect is somewhat ruined by the bloody axe in one of them. "Where's Way," she asks, once Eddie lowers his knife and she's no longer in danger of being stabbed.

Eddie grits his teeth. "Cannibals. A whole group."

"They  _took_ him," Jess accuses. "Where the Hell were you?!"

"They were smart," Eddie snaps back. "They kept attacking me with shivs so I had no choice but to pay attention to them, and they dragged Waylon away. I can't tell which way."

Jess inhales deeply through her nose and closes her eyes. She brings up her hand to her eyes and rubs. "Ok. Ok, ok, ok," she says quietly. She drops her hand and opens her eyes. "There's no use arguing about this," she says. "We can fight later. We just have to find Way."

Eddie nods. "Where would they take him? To the rest of them?"

"That's what I would guess. They would keep their food close," Jess nods, and Eddie bares his teeth slightly both at Waylon being referred to that way, and anger at himself for letting the man be taken from him. "We should just follow the blood," Jess continues.

Eddie nods, and the pair head out.

 

Waylon claws and bites and yells- however much he can through the hand- but it doesn't seem as though his attacker will be letting him go anytime soon. 

He's eventually dragged through a group of people, who sneer at him, some even hurling insults his way. He's relieved of his backpack and thrown into a cell on the upper level. He tries to rush past his jailer, but he's not quite quick enough to dodge the punch aimed at his head, and only manages to get a glancing blow to the side instead of a full-forced one. He still clutches it as the door is closed and locked. When the ringing in his ears stops, he takes stock of his cell. A sink with running water, albeit only cold; a mattress on the floor, covered in exactly _what_ to stain it like that, Waylon doesn't want to guess; and some blood smeared on the walls and floor, complete with handprints wrapped around the doorframe. He shudders when he sees that particular decoration. 

He sits on the mattress, extending his legs. He hopes that they leave the contents of his bag alone- their food supply is dwindling, and the cans in his pack are more important than ever. Waylon hopes beyond hope that Jess and Eddie find him, and soon.

 

Waylon doesn't know how much time passes- an hour? Two? Could it be even three? All he knows is that a good amount of time after he's captured, a man approaches his cell, a long blade in his hand. Waylon is many things, but an idiot is not one of them, so he complies with the man's orders. He's led to a level above the one where his cell is, and at the end of a twisting maze of hallways, he sees debris piled up as fortification, with a door smack in the middle. The door is opened from the inside once a guard outside knocks, and Waylon is unceremoniously shoved in. The door is shut behind him, and he hears a makeshift lock engage.

The room is long, with more debris piled up at the far end. This is obviously a stretch of hallway that had been transformed into a headquarters of sorts. Waylon can see that it's dark outside through the windows on one side, and at the far end, examining the wall of debris, is a man. He's just a little smaller than Eddie, but still a rather large man. There's another man who resumes his post at the side of the room, who Waylon assumes had opened the door. Waylon glances behind him. There's a deadbolt of sorts that had been fastened over the side of the door, which was what he had heard when he was pushed in. 

Waylon looks forward again. The man at the far end slowly turns, and Waylon shivers. The man's face is nearly unrecognizable with scars. He doesn't quite look like a Variant- there aren't any tumors on his face- but he still wouldn't be very inconspicuous on the street. The man also has a missing eye, and Waylon knows that at one time he probably would have thrown up at the empty socket. He distantly wonders if the man had taken off his bandage to scare the Hell out of Waylon or if he simply goes without and had somehow managed to avoid all infections. The man also has a shaved head, which also has a patchwork of scars written across it. This is obviously the leader of the cannibal clan, who had more likely than not fought his way to the top. The man smiles at him, and Waylon does his best to repress his shiver. 

"There's no need to be afraid," the man says, advancing on Waylon slowly, leisurely. "You will not die. Not truly, anyway," he laughs. "You'll always be a part of us. We'll carry you, absorbed into ourselves. Our bodies will make use of you to grow stronger. And in that way, you will live forever."

"I'd rather not," Waylon opines. 

The man shrugs his broad shoulders. "I don't care what you want." He pauses in front of Waylon. Waylon takes steps backwards until his back meets the door. The man simply advances again.

The man extends his hand, and Waylon bares his teeth in warning. "If you bite me, I will order that you will be the next to be harvested," the leader warns. Waylon reluctantly covers his teeth. The man strokes his face gently. He chuckles lightly. "My favorite part is the face. A little sweeter than the rest," the man informs him. Waylon shivers violently without his permission. The man grins maniacally. The leader leaves Waylon alone soon enough, and Waylon breathes a small sigh of relief when the man takes a half-step back. 

The man roves his eyes over Waylon. "You'll be a little gamey, unfortunately. Barely have any meat on your bones, just like everyone in here," the man complains. 

"Good," Waylon growls out. 

"Ooh, feisty," he laughs. "Good. I like it when they put up a fight. Keeps my men on their toes." He looks at the guard. "Put him back in his cell."

The guard opens the door, and the man who had 'escorted' Waylon to the leader is there, ready with his shiv. Waylon can see now that it's made of a half a pair of scissors and an old kitchen knife wrapped together so that it's deadly whichever way the man slices it. 

Waylon is brought back to his cell, and he paces. He can't get more than three steps before turning around, but it's something to do, at least. Waylon realizes he should be paying more attention to the cannibals, and wraps his hands around the bars of his cell and tries to see what's going on beneath him. He can see most of the floor; everything except what the catwalk obscures. 

The cannibals are milling around, each seemingly having their own duty. There are a few carrying what looks like supplies for shivs, some holding what looks like debris for enforcing areas. Some are sitting, crafting shivs, some are sharpening already-made shivs. Worst of all, Waylon sees some carrying what looks like bowls of stew to the others. He shivers, knowing what was probably in that stew. He can guess where the kitchen is from where the servers keep coming from. And every so often, a new group of people arrives, and he assumes that they must have finished patrol, hunting, or some kind of combination of the two. He looks up at the level directly across from him, and sees a few people in his predicament, trapped in their own cells. 

Waylon sighs, resting his head against the bars. Not for the first time in the asylum, he closes his eyes and prays.  _Please let Eddie and Jess be ok. Please let them figure out where I am. Please, please, please. And let us get out quickly from this awful place, with no more damned detours._

 

Meanwhile, Jess and Eddie are stealthily following the trails of blood, hiding in rooms when a group of people comes through. They're getting more frequent, which they know is a 'good' sign. It'll do no good for a patrol to find a group of bodies close to their home base and let the others know that an intruder is close. The cannibals might either kill everyone they deem 'food' or just simply have time to prepare themselves to be attacked. Jess and Eddie work well as a team, and they both begrudgingly silently agree, though neither would ever admit it out loud. 

"This is taking too long," Eddie whisper-growls, and Jess rolls her eyes at him. 

"We have to be careful. If we go in guns blazing, Waylon might die," Jess points out. 

Eddie grumbles to himself, knowing she's right, and they continue, following the gruesome, snaking trail.

 

Waylon grows tired, but he fights it. He does  _not_ want to fall asleep in this place, although he knows it must be quite late now. He weighs the pros and cons. Pros- he'll have enough strength and energy to try and fight them when they come to 'harvest' him, even though he guesses it might be a while until they get to his turn. Maybe even days. Cons- he could be grabbed while he's sleeping, or Jess and Eddie might not know where he is. Though, Waylon admits with a sort of grim satisfaction, there will probably be a lot of screaming, scuffling, and fighting when the duo arrive, which will undoubtedly wake him up. And he's turned into a light sleeper anyway. Waylon begrudgingly lies down on the mattress and tries to sleep. 

 

"And what about the big guy the new one was with," one guard asks another when they take a break to eat. He has a scar bisecting his right eyebrow, along with the rest of the tumors on his face. But they're smaller than most of the Variants. 

"He'll never find this place," the other man says, chewing. The stew is good and fresh today. They must have just caught the beginning of a new pot. 

"From what I hear, he fought hard to protect the little guy," the first guard shrugs. "Took out like six of the hunting party. Think that they're friends?"

"In this place? I doubt it. I'm surprised that he didn't ditch the one we caught the first chance he could. The one we have could hardly stand his own in a fight, though I heard he gave Harold a Hell of a bite."

"And what about the girl that killed Tommy and Billy, do you think she'll be a problem," the first guard asks.

"Ah, that was far enough from here. And from what I hear, she's kind of heavy," the other replies. "She'll tire herself out soon enough, and she'll be delicious," he adds, almost dreamily.

"It's been a while since we've had fat," the first agrees. "They're all so scrawny here."

"Exactly. So quit worrying and eat up. We have a shift on building shivs in a bit."

They return to their meal.

 

Waylon is back with Lisa and his boys, and Murkoff is over and done with. Razed to the ground with all the evidence they captured and the public backlash. He knows this must be a dream, which means that he had finally fallen asleep. But he can't bring himself to care. Living in his house with his family are Jess and Eddie, who are playing with his kids. He should probably be more concerned that a serial killer is within ten miles of his family, let alone three feet, but Eddie's so gentle and loving with them. All Eddie ever wanted was a family. A chance to be a better father than he ever had. And with Waylon's kids, he has a chance to be just that. Waylon watches Eddie look up from doing a puzzle with his older one, Ethan, and Eddie smiles warmly at him. Eddie's eyes are clear of blood and the sores on the side of his face have scarred over. He could be anyone on the street. 

Waylon wakes up to the sound of screaming, ripped from his pleasant dream. One of the prisoners across the way is being dragged from his cell, fighting hard and screaming himself hoarse. One of the cannibals grabbing him evidently gets fed up, drawing out a shiv and sticking it into the man's neck, drawing it out. Waylon's eyes widen at the immediate spray of blood. The unfortunate man's hands try to stem the bleeding, but it's far too much, far too fast. He soon falls unconscious, and probably bleeds out where he lies. A cannibal hefts the body over his shoulder, unheeding of the blood still spewing from the wound and down his back, and he carries him downstairs and off to the kitchen. 

Waylon takes deep breaths, trying not to stare at the large pool of fresh blood.  _Oh God, please. Jess and Eddie, come quick._

 

Jess drags the latest body into an empty room and under a bed, wrinkling her nose and wiping her hands of blood on the man's clothes. He had been alone, and she pockets the shiv he had been carrying. 

"Think we're getting close," she asks Eddie.

"I do," Eddie nods. "The patrols are getting smaller. Why would they guard something so close to the main area? They're so cocky."

"True," Jess agrees, pointing a finger at him. They look at each other in silent agreement and leave the room together, sneaking ever closer to the cannibals who are holding Waylon captive. 

 

Jess drags Eddie to hide behind an open door as a group patrol goes by, talking and laughing. They sneak around the door to head in the direction the cannibals had come from. 

'Head up,' Jess mouths at Eddie, and they silently climb a set of side stairs to get the higher ground. They come out on the second floor of a cell block, and there's a crowd of people milling about underneath them. Thankfully, the cannibals had put a shield under the railing so that the pair is hidden as long as they creep low to the ground. They grab a nearby guard, Jess clamping her hand over his mouth and holding him while Eddie stabs him in the side. Jess holds him until he goes limp, then they just lay him quietly on the ground. 

"Way," Jess breathes, relieved, when they find the man.

"Oh thank God," Waylon whispers, smiling at them while Eddie tries to jimmy the lock with his knife. "That's no use, the locks are probably too strong. You need the keys. Medium build; black, short hair; tumors all over his face- not that that helps- but there's a scar on the back of his neck that runs into his hair," he describes. He realizes with a start that Eddie's eyes look just as they had in the dream- the blood has cleared from them. It had happened so slowly that he hadn't noticed.

"Eddie, stay with Way," Jess tells him, and Eddie nods. She creeps along, and when she comes across an area that hasn't been shielded, she stashes her axe in an open cell and stands up, hoping to be mistaken as just another cannibal. 

"Who are you," a guard asks her warily. 

"I'm new," Jess pitches her voice low. "Recruited from D block."

The guard shrugs and nods. 

"Where's the guy with the newest one's keys, boss says he's being a pain in the ass and to move him up," Jess says, rolling her eyes.

"Oh, Steve. Yeah, I figured that guy would be a problem. He's having lunch back there," the man thumbs over his shoulder. Jess nods and walks past him, meandering around until she comes across an offshoot of a hallway, which she follows until she comes across an empty room with the man Waylon had described with his back to her. Jess creeps up behind him and loops her arm around his neck, squeezing hard on the sides of his neck. The man scrabbles at her arm, but his struggles slow down and then stop. He's not dead, just knocked out. But Jess knows she can't afford to take a chance, so she stabs him in the neck with the shiv she'd scavenged from the cannibal Eddie had killed. 

"Well, well," a man says from behind her, and knocks her over the head with something heavy before she can turn around. She's dazed, and he takes the shiv and puts his arm around her neck. He brings her back through the hallways to where Waylon is out of his cell and being held at shiv-point, with Eddie standing behind him with his hands on his head and a thunderous expression on his face. There are two cannibals behind Eddie with their shivs out. Jess takes a closer look at the shiv Waylon's being threatened with- it's not a shiv at all. It's Eddie's own knife. 

"Think we wouldn't notice this guy, huh," the man threatening Waylon sneers, gesturing at Eddie. "Kinda hard to miss."

"Figured you'd be too stupid," Jess replies, and the arm around her neck tightens, just a little, but enough to make her gasp for air. She's reminded of her and Waylon's first encounter with Eddie once they had been put in the asylum. 

"Bring 'em to Carlton," one man orders, and they're marched, Waylon in front with Jess following and Eddie bringing up the rear. 

Waylon recognizes the path- they're being taken to the scarred leader.


	9. ...and spit us out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jess, Eddie, and Waylon are trapped in the cannibals' clutches.

"Don't try and pull anything, you two," one of the cannibals escorting the trio says, waving his shank between Jess and Eddie.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Jess smiles sarcastically. 

They're shoved into the room that Waylon had been in before, and the leader looks up from his desk. 

"Ah! So you're the troublemakers," the man- apparently named Carlton- says, standing up and looking at Jess and Eddie. The guards were smart enough to leave a few cannibals as protection, including the one holding Eddie's knife to the front of Waylon's throat. "You won't make any more mess, now, will you," the leader grins. "Not while we have your little toy." He strokes Waylon's face. 

"Keep your filthy hands off of him," Eddie barks, while Jess just growls.

"Oh? So he's yours, then," Carlton smiles, patting Waylon's cheek sharply and then retreating. He examines Eddie closely. "It's a shame we have to kill you, really. You'd be a wonderful addition to the ranks," he remarks.

"If you're going to kill us, why haven't you done it already," Jess challenges.

The man turns his attention to her. "Well, we do have order here. Although," he looks Jess up and down. "We just might move you up. You're heavier than everyone else around here. More fat on you," he smiles. 

"Touch her and I'll kill you slowly," Eddie warns. 

"So you're both under his protection," Carlton laughs. He smiles at Eddie. "What can you do now, though," he says slowly, drawing out a knife. He holds it to Jess' left cheek. The girl doesn't even flinch. Eddie bares his teeth at the cannibal. Carlton flicks his wrist, slicing Jess' cheek with the point of his knife, leaving a trail of blood. It's just deep enough to leave a scar. Eddie snarls at the sight of her blood. "Why do you keep these little strays around," Carlton asks, honestly curious.

Eddie doesn't answer him outside of his murderous glare. 

Carlton shrugs. "Fine. Keep your secrets. They won't matter, in the end. Take them to their cells. Make sure to keep plenty of space between them. I don't want them anywhere near each other, or even able to see each other."

The guards nod and leave with their prisoners. 

 

Jezebel paces in her cell, trying to think of an escape plan. She grimly admits to herself that even if she comes up with a viable one, there's no possible way she can communicate it to her friends. But she will  _not_ just sit and accept death. It's not in her nature, and besides that, they've come way too far for that. She just hopes Eddie and Waylon are thinking of their own plans.

 

Eddie sits quietly on his bed, carefully mulling over and then discarding options. Too many guards to simply kill. No way out of his cell without keys. And even if he did get out, Jess and Waylon would more likely than not be killed or at least threatened with the possibility to bring him to heel. But one option has merit. It was something he had considered before Carlton had even hinted at it- he could pretend to flip sides.

It'll be simple enough to put into practice. But it will take time for it to seem real. Not to mention, he's banking on the fact that Carlton will be too pleased to say no to him, in any way, shape, or form.

 

It's two days later before Eddie decides it's time. The trio had been fed in the meantime, of course- vegetables, thank God. It'd do no good to kill someone to eat if they starve first. 

"I want to be taken to Carlton," Eddie demands of a passing guard. 

"For what," the man asks, wary.

"To talk," Eddie replies.

The guard disappears, and Eddie wraps his hands around the bars and waits. 

"He'll see you," the guard returns, and Eddie is escorted by three cannibals to Carlton's door. 

"I hear that you wanted to see me," Carlton says, seated behind his desk. Eddie hides his disdain for the man. 

"I did," Eddie nods. "To talk."

"So I've heard. About what," Carlton asks.

Eddie pauses. "You said I would make a good addition," Eddie begins, and smothers a smirk when he sees Carlton's face light up in interest. "What would I have to do?"

"Oh, all I have to do is approve it. You'll get your knife back, of course," Carlton says with a smile. "Consider it a...signing bonus," he laughs. Eddie laughs slightly with him, imagining how he'll kill the man when the time comes.

"If I do, could you do a few things in return," Eddie asks.

"Depends. What do you want?"

"To move up my former companions' deaths. To a date of my choosing," Eddie replies. Carlton looks frankly surprised.

"Why would you ever want that," the man asks.

Eddie shrugs. "I've been meaning to get rid of them sooner or later. And there's no time like the present, is there," he smiles. "As long as they die together. I found them together, I might as well leave them that way."

"Sounds reasonable," Carlton smiles. He stands and walks around his desk, stopping in front of Eddie. "We have a deal." He extends his hand, and Eddie shakes it.

 

Jezebel watches Eddie walk by her cell- sans guards. He casts his eyes to her, and looks up and down very slightly. It's as much of a nod that he can give her. Jess looks away, pleased, but schooling her face not to show it. 

 

Eddie does his planning. He finds out where Jess' and Waylon's backpacks are. He finds out where the prisoners are taken to be killed, if they're not just killed in front of their cells, as they sometimes are. He carefully plots the route he'll walk them down, the time where the fewest guards will be available, and their escape route. He even takes into account the patrols. Eddie balances the pleasure of slaughtering Carlton with the difficulty and danger of getting to him, and reluctantly throws the idea away. The leader of the cannibal clan will have to live so that the trio can escape. Once he collects all of that information, he goes to Carlton with the request of killing Jess and Waylon the next day at noon. Carlton accepts. 

 

"Come on," Eddie roughly pushes Jess, growling. "Watch her," he orders a guard, and then he waits while Waylon's cell is opened. "You." Eddie grabs Waylon's arm and yanks him out, making the slim man stumble.

"I thought you were our friend," Waylon accuses. Jess doesn't know if Waylon knows that Eddie is doing this for them. She hopes her friend is just putting up a good act.

Eddie laughs cruelly. "I was never your 'friend.' I kept you around because you could get through vents and grab keys I couldn't. And you always came right back, desperate for my protection. Well, this is me revoking that protection." Jess admits that Eddie plays his role well. There is still a lot of anger and cruelty in the man. Waylon clenches his fists and swings his right hand at Eddie's face. Eddie grabs his arm and shoves him back into a waiting guard.

"Hey, pick on someone your own size," Jess growls at him.

Eddie turns his attention to her, looking her up and down. "You're not quite my size, but you'll do," he replies, grabbing the front of her jumpsuit and ripping her from the guard holding her. She grabs his wrists, glaring into his eyes. "Stupid bitch who never knew her place," Eddie snarls into her face, throwing her back into two guards, each of which take an arm. Jess can feel a slight difference in her jumpsuit- a small weight that hadn't been there before. Eddie had slipped her something, but she can't quite figure out what. She hopes it's a weapon.

"Move out," Eddie orders, leading the way. Waylon's jostled into place behind him, and Jess at the back. Eddie leads them through a twisting mass of hallways, and Jess pays careful attention to the people around, waiting to see if they come to a less-populated area. 

 

"Hey, Eddie," one guard holding Jess calls.

"What," Eddie asks, barely looking over his shoulder. 

"I'm looking forward to this one," he jostles Jess' arm. "Should be nice and tender."

"Yeah, she would be," Eddie nods, turning a corner into a deserted area. He lets himself drop back and faces the rest of the group. "Too bad you'll never get to find out," Eddie says, and before the guards know what's hit them, Eddie grabs the two holding Waylon and cracks their heads together. Jess throws her elbow into her right guard's stomach, pulling out the shiv Eddie had provided her with and stabbing the left one in the throat before turning and giving the still-recovering guard the same treatment. 

"You were acting," Waylon says, unnecessarily, looking at Eddie as he bends to make sure all the guards are dead. "I thought, maybe," the man trails off.

"That I had betrayed you," Eddie asks, straightening, turning to look at Waylon. The computer tech blushes and nods. "Well, I still need you two to get out, so don't flatter yourself." Eddie turns on his heel, grabbing their packs from where he had stashed them and tossing them to their respective owners. 

"Love you too, Ed," Jess replies easily, shouldering her backpack.

"I filled them with more food," Eddie says.

"Oh, now I really love you." She extends her hands, and Eddie deposits her axe into them.

 

Eddie stealthily leads the way out, avoiding or killing the guards in the way. 

"Hey," a voice shouts.

"Go," Eddie demands, and they all start running.

A few cannibals give chase, some joining and some leaving as they progress.

 

"Ah," Jess cries, for once seeming truly afraid. Waylon and Eddie spin around, seeing that a cannibal has one hand in her hair and one on her axe, dragging her backwards. 

"Run," Jess tells them, grabbing the roots of her hair with her left hand and struggling. "Run!"

Not listening, Eddie comes back and socks the cannibal in the face, shattering his nose and making him howl and release Jess. He scoops the girl into his arms, ignoring her protests, and as they pass Waylon, Jess grabs his hand and pulls him along.

 

When they reach the next cellblock without any cannibals following, they lean against the door and pant. Eddie had let Jess down a few corridors back.

"That was close," Waylon says in between the sounds of him trying to catch his breath. He had never been athletic before the asylum, but he's gotten used to running.

Jess turns and punches Eddie in the stomach, making him double over. "I told you to run, you stupid son of a bitch," she growls, fighting when Eddie pins her against him in a mockery of a hug. She stills eventually, wrapping her arms around his middle. He gentles into a proper hug.

"You really think I can let either of you die now," Eddie asks, his arms now around her shoulders. Waylon smiles at them, and Jess grabs him and pulls him into the hug. Eddie incorporates him without a second thought. "I've put too much work in. I'd hate to see it go to waste."

"Okay, now that all that mushy shit is over," Jess extricates herself. The men break once she does. "Eddie, I need you to cut my hair." She sits on a bed in a cell, her back to Eddie, and tilts her head back.

Waylon marvels at just how far they've come. Jess would never have done that at the beginning- leave herself so vulnerable to Eddie.

"You know, I could slit your throat," Eddie murmurs, obviously thinking along the same lines. He grabs a handful of Jess' dark brown hair.

"You won't," Jess says, feeling him start to saw with his knife. 

"I won't," Eddie agrees, working through her hair. He releases his grip and shuffles the hair around, cutting some longer pieces before he's satisfied. "Not the neatest, but it's better that I had hoped." He drops the hair in his hand on top of the small pile that had formed, and Waylon is surprised at just how much there is. He had never really considered Jess' hair to be long- just medium length.


	10. The End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waylon, Eddie, and Jezebel finally make their way out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so delayed and this chapter is so short, this one really fought me for every word.

"So, how much longer do you think we'll be in here," Waylon asks.

"If this is your version of 'are we there yet' I will not hesitate to clock you," Jess replies, looking at him. 

"We've been in here forever," Waylon exclaims.

"It can't be more than like, two weeks," Jess roughly calculates.

"Two weeks of constant terror. Two weeks of running and hiding and encountering cannibals and a man who stitched together monsters," he points out.

"We'll be out of here soon enough," Eddie says with confidence.

 

"What is that," Jess says, stopping the party. All three listen intently and hear a door being smashed down maybe a corridor over. 

"Either the twins or Chris," Eddie guesses.

They listen carefully until the rhythmic pounding ends in a mighty crash, and then silence. 

"Maybe they're chasing someone else," Waylon provides.

"Hopefully they'll keep them distracted," Eddie says gravely. "You do not want the twins or Chris hunting you."

 

"He's coming again," Eddie says.

"Do you think we should go in a room," Jess asks.

"All the doors we passed were locked," Waylon says nervously. They watch Eddie transform, as they had before.

"Are we not in the new neighborhood yet," the Groom asks.

"Not quite. Almost. Just a little while longer," Jess tells him.

"It's taking so long," Eddie grumbles.

"Good things take time," Waylon assures him. Eddie smiles gently at him. 

"That they do, Darling."

They walk in silence for a time, the only noise Eddie softly humming his song.

 

"Isn't it so nice to not have to worry about anything, Darling," the Groom asks suddenly, looking adoringly at Waylon. 

"What do you mean," Waylon furrows his eyebrows.

"Being a woman, of course," Eddie smiles grandly. "No cares, no bills to pay, just children to take care of and meals to cook and a house to take care of," he says, as chipper as could be.

"That's really fucking sexist, Edster," Jess says.

"Language," Eddie snaps viciously. "And do not call me that."

Jess shrugs, unfazed. 

"As I was saying," Eddie growls at her. "It must be nice, sweetheart," he says softly, looking adoringly at Waylon.

"Um, sure," Waylon replies.

"I hope that that never changes," Eddie sighs.

Jezebel snorts derisively, and Eddie glares at her. "It was never better before, Eddie. We've just forgotten everything that was bad about it. Nostalgia makes liars of us all."

 

The trio runs into a crazed patient wielding a meat cleaver when Eddie is himself again, and the patient chases them through a few hallways.

"You two go ahead, I'll loop around and lead him away," Jess whispers once they've created some distance and taken shelter in an empty room.

"Be safe," Eddie nods at her, and he leaves with Waylon trailing behind him.

 

Jezebel comes back to them in a cell block with blood soaking her uniform. When Waylon rushes over to her, she shakes her head. "It's not mine," she says soothingly, going into a cell and turning on the faucet. She scrubs the blood from her skin and uses handfuls of the cold water to clean the blood off of her axe.

"Why," Waylon questions her.

"He was chasing us," Eddie points out, trying to telegraph his every movement to not startle the other patients and scare them more than necessary. "He wouldn't have stopped."

"But he deserved to be saved. He deserved to  _live_ ," Waylon enunciates.

"I'm not saying he didn't," Jess says, picking up her now-clean axe. "But he cornered me. I had no choice."

"Don't you get it," Waylon finally explodes, voice carrying in the room. The patients pause and look at him. "Don't you  _see_? Everyone in here deserves a chance! They deserve a life, free from Murkoff, getting the real treatment they need," he exclaims. "And if we can't give that to them," Waylon's voice breaks, his eyes filling with tears.

"Way," Jess sighs gently.

Waylon takes a deep breath. "Then we're no better than the monsters we used to work for."

Jess looks at Eddie, who looks just as lost for words as she is.

"But you're not," a patient steps forward, looking at Waylon. "You're not. You broke the rules. You came to help. You saw that it was wrong. You're the one who stopped everything," he continues, stepping closer until he stops a few feet away from Waylon. "You gave us that chance."

"After we get out, we'll tell the world about this place," Waylon promises him.

The man nods. "Thank you."

 

"Here," Jess says, stopping at the elevator shaft and pushing the button to call the elevator. When she hears clanking and grinding, she raises her eyebrows. She had never thought that it would actually work- she had just thought she'd give it a shot. 

Eddie, Waylon, and Jess share a look, a small furl of hope growing in each of their chests. The elevator finally reaches them, and they walk in. The key is waiting patiently for them in the keyhole.

"Are we sure we shouldn't just walk through the main doors instead of the labs," Jess asks, watching Eddie pull the grate closed.

"Murkoff Tactical would come right through there," Eddie says dubiously.

"We haven't heard anything from any tac team," Jess points out.

"We can always try the front doors," Waylon says, reaching forward and pushing the button for the lobby. 

Jess tightens her grip on her axe, expecting any moment for the elevator to grind to a halt at a floor and for Chris Walker to rip the doors off and slaughter them all, so close to freedom. After all, it is his job to contain everyone. 

But they reach the lobby completely untouched. "We were due for some luck," Jess says, stepping cautiously out and looking around the room. Except for blood and bodies, the room looks normal, and completely devoid of human life. She takes a deep breath and gestures the men forward, and together they head for the main doors.

"Park? Ellis," an all too familiar voice asks, and Jeremy fucking Blaire is sitting there, propped up in the doorway.

"Blaire," Jess growls.

"Why can't you two just die," Blair snarls. And then his eyes rove over Eddie. "And you picked up a friend."

Jess crouches down to his level. "You'll never hurt anyone ever again. We're going to tear this company down. You will pay for what you've done to all these poor people."

"Is that so," Blaire questions. Jess nods slowly, a grin forming on her face. "How are you going to do that if you're dead?" And then there's a flash of movement, too quick for even Jess to react to, with her guard down as it is with freedom so close she can smell it, and there's something embedded in Jess' thigh. She cries out and throws herself backward, her axe falling off to the side as she shoves herself towards Waylon and Eddie. She clutches the shard of glass Blaire had driven into her. "No one can know! No one!"

Eddie snarls and moves towards him, fists clenched, while Waylon goes for Jess. But a black mass beats Eddie to Blaire. Blaire is whipped around, and Waylon and Eddie follow the movement. "Oh, God! How'd it get out," Blaire screams, and Jess can just see through the haze of pain that her former boss is being tossed around like a chew toy, and then he spreads his arms and turns into a red mist. 

Gore rains down on the trio, and they duck their heads against it.

"Walrider," Jess gasps, trying valiantly to stand. She doesn't dare remove the glass shard, not knowing if Blaire had hit the femoral artery. If he had, she's fucked. But she doesn't have time to worry- her leg collapses under her, and she screams in pain. 

"Come here, come here," Eddie grunts, pulling her up and bracing her arm against his shoulders.

"Why would it help us," Waylon asks, standing in front of them, his back to the room, camcorder in hand from where he had filmed Blaire's demise.

"It probably just wanted Blaire," Jess slurs.

"No. I helped you," a voice says, and Waylon spins around, and they see a man standing there with a black mist surrounding the outline of his body. He has short black hair, he's fit, maybe mid to late thirties. "My name is Miles Upshur."

"Waylon Park," Waylon introduces himself. "I'm so sorry I got you into this mess."

"You sent that email," Miles realizes, and his form flickers, the Walrider coalescing behind him. 

"I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry," Waylon whines, watching the Walrider form. The Walrider backs down.

Miles takes a few deep breaths. "Take my Jeep."

Waylon blinks. Those were not the words he thought the man would say. "What?"

"My Jeep. It's at the checkpoint," Miles points, and Waylon belatedly realizes that he's missing fingers. The reason he hadn't noticed is that the Walrider had replaced them with its own skeletal, black version.

"Come with us," Waylon invites.

Miles shakes his head slowly. He hands Waylon a camcorder. "There's a lot of evidence on there. I see you have one, too," he gestures to Waylon's own recorder. "I need to stay here. Learn to control the Walrider. I can't go into society like this. When I'm ready, I'll leave."

"When you do, look us up," Waylon nods at him.

"Paul Redding," Jezebel says tightly.

"What," Miles asks.

"Paul Redding. He's my neighbor, he should be able to help us. If he does, I'll tell him to watch out for you. 17-77 Jacobson Street, Apartment 4D."

"Thank you," Miles says.

"Are you sure you don't want to come with us," Waylon asks.

"Yes. The keys are in the ignition. I'll blast the gate open for you," Miles tells them. "I should be able to control him to do that."

"Thank you," Eddie speaks. Miles nods at him. The trio turns, and they walk their battered and bruised bodies out into the sunshine and towards the red Jeep parked there, a symbol of freedom. 

"What comes next," Waylon asks as Eddie is getting Jess situated stretched out in the back. Eddie sits shotgun when he's done. 

"We'll see," Jess replies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's the end of that! If you guys want, I have a plan for a secondary series detailing life after the asylum, so if you're interested in that, let me know!

**Author's Note:**

> Comments greatly appreciated! If you want to come say hi on tumblr, drop me a message at sweettoothedtrickster13!


End file.
